


Let Me In Or Let Me Down

by noraebangbang



Category: EXID (Band), EXO (Band), Miss A, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Feels, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, I swear Yoongi is a beta, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 65,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noraebangbang/pseuds/noraebangbang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yoongi hates dealing with heat cycles and suppressants and life in general. Everything is a terrible mess, and then there's Jimin to make things a tiny bit brighter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Let's start out with the most obvious - this is not the typical A/B/O, and if you're looking for that, I'm super sorry but this isn't it. But it IS me playing around with a lot of the trope's main points, breaking them apart, and stitching them back together into the kind of A/B/O fic that I'd like to read myself. There's a bit more about the world around them, and about the logistics of the whole thing, and I hope it's at least moderately interesting. 
> 
> There will be talk of heavier topics--depression, self harm, suicide attempts--so just be warned. Right now, I'm putting the rating a bit lower since nothing smuttastic has happened yet, but eventually, I'm pretty sure I'll be bumping the rating up to E.

The bed is soaked and Yoongi can’t quite bring himself to roll out of the wet spot. Has no idea if he even  _wants_ to. It’s unimportant, utterly unimportant, but the thought blips into his head that he’s probably not Hyojin’s first choice this month. Or second. Or third. And it’s unimportant but it stings a little, and so he climbs out of the bed.

Hyojin, still naked, stands in front of the full-length mirror mounted on her closet door, gathering her lengthy black hair up into a ponytail after sitting her brush aside. She watches Yoongi’s reflection, and he can feel her eyes on him, but neither of them speaks. Neither of them needs to speak; they got what they wanted and now it was time for his hasty retreat.

Only, he doesn’t feel like having any haste. He doesn’t feel like having much of anything, other than maybe another come or two. And a beer. But neither of those are options, not when she’s up and brushing her hair and not a word passes between them. He knows when it’s time to go.

It’s silly, honestly, to worry about whether or not she called someone else before texting him with their usual SOS distress signal. She’s had crushes before. She’s had other partners. Hell, he’s had both himself. There is zero reason to fixate on the fact that there’s a new crush and maybe she messaged him first and he said no. All that matters is that they’re both sated and calm and everything is good.

Everything is good. Definitely. Everything is good. He zips his jeans up and tries not to frown too noticeably.

“Hey,” she calls, just as his hand touches the doorknob. He turns, just so, to see her watching him with an expression that he can’t quite place. Pity, maybe? Probably pity. “Thanks. See you next month?”

“I’ll see you this weekend,” he says.

She considers a smile before shaking her head slightly. “You know what I mean.”

“I know,” he says. “See you next month.”

\+ + + +

“Okay okay okay what about—no no, let me talk!”

There’s yelling, and laughing, and four different voices all talking at once and Yoongi can’t do much more but laugh into his beer as they fight amongst themselves. It’s a stupid conversation, as it always is. Namjoon gets way too passionate about his hypothetical scenarios, and Seokjin gets way too passionate about undermining every single scenario, and it always ends in a weird sexual tension that everyone can feel, and smell, but no one ever comments on.

The heat in the restaurant stifles, and it makes Yoongi’s fever feel that much more uncomfortable. But if anyone notices, they don’t comment, and Yoongi can almost always count on Namjoon to make a joke about cleaning products or sour candies. After so many punches for it, most people would cut it out, but not Namjoon.

“This is the dumbest one yet,” Seokjin says. He waves his hand through the air, like that might somehow clear out the stupidity Namjoon laid out in front of them, and takes a swig from his beer bottle. “There’s no way on Earth that any of us would become a vampire, let alone eat anyone else.”

“Vampires don’t even eat people.” Namjoon’s girlfriend Jia has a sweet laugh and a tiny scrunchy nose and she’s wonderful company, but Yoongi can’t help but feel like they’re not quite the right ones for each other. Not with the way he sees Namjoon and Seokjin look at each other when one—or both—of them is in the throes of a mating mood. He’s sure that Jia sees it too, but it never seems to bother her. “Where do you even get this?”

“I’m talking about, in the unlikely and improbable event that one of us should become a vampire, who would you bite first!” Namjoon grabs another slice of pizza. “It’s not that hard. Who would  _you_ bite, Zesty?”

Yoongi sighs. So much for being low-key this month. “You’re a dick,” he says. “And…I dunno, I guess Seokjinnie.”

The others erupt in more shouting and laughing, and Yoongi can’t help but smile some at Seokjin’s awkward victory dance.

“Seriously? Him over me?” Namjoon throws extra distress into his voice, clutching his chest. “I’m your best friend!”

“You also eat like a ten-year-old,” Yoongi says. “Seokjinnie has a good diet usually and he doesn’t drink a lot and he doesn’t use drugs, so I imagine his blood just tastes better.”

“Have you thought about this before?” Jia asks, smiling.

“No.” Yes, a few times, almost always while reading or watching vampire-themed things. “Just kind of a guess. I dunno how that kind of thing works.”

“I taste delicious, it’s true,” Seokjin says with a firm nod. “I’ve heard this before.”

“Well  _I_ would bite Meng,” Namjoon says. Yoongi watches the blush spread over Namjoon’s face and considers making fun of him for blushing over Seokjin, but decides it’s kind of rude with Jia right there. Instead, he smiles to himself as Namjoon pretends to attack Jia’s neck, making her shriek and smack her hand against his arm wrapped around her neck.

“Does diet really affect how your blood tastes?”

Yoongi turns his head some at the feel of pressure against his arm and stares at his younger brother Jeongguk, eyes wide and overly curious, leaning into him.

“I dunno,” Yoongi shrugs. “I don’t really make it a point to lick blood. You could do an experiment.” Jeongguk leers back, lip curling up. “I’m kidding. Don’t drink blood.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Jeongguk asks quietly. “You’re really pale. I mean, paler than normal.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Is it…your thing?”

Yoongi smiles. Jeongguk had never once called it by anything other than ‘thing,’ as if somehow anything else was way too obscene. Even when he’d gone through his first cycle himself, he steadfastly refused to refer to it as such. If Yoongi weren’t feeling like hot shit on a summer day, he might’ve been more inclined to tease.

“I’m just tired,” he says. “I’ll probably just go pick up my meds and  go home.”

“What?” Namjoon interjects loudly. “Are you running away? You can’t run away from your own homecoming celebration!”

“I can, and I’m gonna,” Yoongi says. “I’m really tired, I just wanna rest for a while.”

“You know we can smell her on you, right?” Namjoon asks, but Yoongi doesn’t bother answering. “Man, you suck.”

“Yeah, I know.” Yoongi sighs, stands. “Sorry. It’s just…been a long day. I’ll be better this weekend.”

“Take care of yourself, Yoongi,” Jia says, and Yoongi feels infinitely guilty about the worry in her eyes. He nods and slips into his jacket again, trying to ignore the dizzying assortment of scents bombarding him as he heads toward the restaurant exit.

\+ + + +

Every five steps, it seems like Yoongi sniffs out another alpha. One smells of peanut butter cups. Another like fresh, warm laundry straight out of the dryer. Some alpha close to the Center smells overwhelmingly of blueberry muffins. It’s distracting, and torturous, and every step forward makes Yoongi want to just turn and run toward one of them for a kind of relief that Hyojin can’t provide. Not that she doesn’t try, but her omega distinction does very little compared to what an alpha could offer.

The walk to the Center just reminds Yoongi of how annoyed it makes him that his stupid, perfect little brother is an alpha. Because of course he is. The kid can’t just be satisfied with being a straight-A student or the fastest on his track team in high school or the recipient of a multitude of scholarships for college. He had to be born an alpha. Just Yoongi’s luck.

There’s a line out the door of the Center as Yoongi approaches and he almost laughs to himself about it. Just his luck, again, to pick the busiest time of the day to pick up his Tellerus refill. Considering it’s the cheapest option, the majority of its users are college kids trying desperately not to get knocked up or knock anybody up. And there’s always, always a line for it. Yoongi considers discussing a switch to the newer pill (Nax-something? Navereen?) with his doctor at his next appointment, but he can practically already feel the dent in his wallet on that one; the new pill isn’t for broke college grads. But maybe there was some kind of discount for the destitute.

Two girls in front of him discuss a new album much more loudly than they really need to and all Yoongi wants to do is scream at them to shut up. His fever feels like it’s gotten worse, even with fooling around with Hyojin earlier. And he can feel every single droplet of sweat beading down the back of his neck, seeping into his shirt. His breathing feels uneven and forced and seriously, who  _is_ that that smells like blueberry muffins? He fans himself, tries to calm down, closes his eyes while attempting some deep breathing.

“Are you okay?” One of the girls ahead of him is staring. Looks concerned. Yoongi tries to respond but all that comes out is an awkward honking kind of noise. “Do you need some water or—”

It happened once, maybe two years after Yoongi’s first cycle, that he’d gotten so worked up that he passed out. An alpha in his class seemed to be on his cycle as well, and everything just smelled so strongly of lilac and every brush of his clothing fabric against his skin was just so overwhelming and every breath felt so much like inhaling in an oven filled with desert sand that he’d just fallen right over. His parents put him in a beta-specific school after that, and he took care to not get to that point again.

So it’s more than a little embarrassing to be here, out in the open in front of the Center, falling steadily toward the pavement in full view of everyone waiting. His head smacks the sidewalk and he can’t even find it in himself to wince at the cracking pain, but the yelling from the girls ahead makes him pretty sure it looks about as bad as it feels. 

\+ + + +

“Y’know,” Hoseok says as he stares at the IV bag while hanging it, “if you wanted to see me, you could’ve just called.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi grumbles.

That never shuts Hoseok up, and Yoongi is aware, but embarrassment takes the lead with his mouth rather than logic. Or maybe it’s the concussion. He sighs and flops his head back against the pillows and stares at Hoseok. He’d been Hoseok’s patient before, a few times, but it never got any less strange to see him so serious and professional. Even with the quick glimpses of normal goofball Hoseok, watching him work felt like watching a vaguely-familiar pod person.

“You’ve gotta be sick of hospitals by now, Yoon,” Hoseok says. “Out of one uncomfortable bed right back into another. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re just avoiding going home.”

“It was an accident,” Yoongi says. He sees the flit of something in Hoseok’s eyes at that, and guilt creeps back in. “I mean. I just got too hot. I’m okay, really.”

“You have a concussion and bruising and you smell.” Hoseok clasps a hand around the bed rail. “You broke yourself in the middle of your cycle, Yoon. You’re not okay. You’re gonna be here overnight, you know that right?”

“Yeah.”

“I already called the little jerk, he says your mom will bring you a change of clothes. As your nurse, I’m supposed to offer you some aids to assist with keeping you comfortable in here while on your cycle. As your friend, please don’t ask me to do that.”

Yoongi smiles, which he figures was probably Hoseok’s objective. “I swear I’m okay,” he says. “I was with Hyojin earlier—”

“Jesus, Yoon, you don’t waste time.”

“—so I’m good. I just got too hot, seriously.”

Hoseok looks unconvinced. He looks worried, and tired, and almost a little sad. But he doesn’t push, and Yoongi is grateful.

“Well, if you need anything, push the button,” Hoseok says. “As much as I’d love to just sit in here and bother you, I’ve got five other patients and unfortunately bedpans don’t change themselves.” Yoongi grimaces and whines some as Hoseok kisses his forehead. “I’m glad you’re out again. It’s good to see you.”

“Nn.”

“Love you too, grumpapotamus.”

Without Hoseok, the room is unbearably quiet. Yoongi considers turning on the television but he doesn’t feel like bothering. He thumbs over his phone screen, pleased at the slight vibration under his touch to alert him to texts.

**Namja Oonie**

hey wtf jeongguk said you passed out??? are you ok????? please be ok.

**17:32pm**

yoongi. i’m serious, are you ok? please don’t make me call, you know I hate calling.

**17:44pm**

min yoongi. pick up your fucking phone i swear to god don’t do this to me again.

**18:03pm**

Yoongi considers not answering. It’s an asshole move and he’s fully aware, but the way everyone keeps saying ‘again’ makes him feel even shittier. He almost wants them to feel just as bad. But that’s wrong, and it’s mean, and it’s irrational to try and hurt people just for showing concern.

Sorry. Was being admitted to the hospital. Got too hot, have concussion, being held overnight. No big deal.

**18:06pm**

He wants to say more. It’s Namjoon, not some random stranger; he could full well say that he feels like maybe he shouldn’t be out just yet, or that for once, fucking Hyojin didn’t really help at all, or that he’s scared as shit about being in the hospital again and all he really wants is someone to come sit with him, just be near him, so that it’s not so horrible. He turns the phone off instead.

\+ + + +

“Yoongi!” Jia smiles so wide Yoongi can see damn near every tooth. She tilts her head to one side, a wisp of hair that’s escaped from her French braid drifting into her face. “I’m glad to see you! Are you here to pick up for this month?”

“Yep,” Yoongi nods.

The line was only four people deep when Yoongi approached, which made him grateful considering what had happened the day prior while trying to get his pills. This time, he skipped the jacket.

Jia smiles slightly more somehow, then turns to head toward the wall of filled prescriptions. He watches a pharmacist at the other side discussing medication with someone at the drive-through window and tries not to feel bad for the young girl in the passenger seat who looks both mortified and dejected. For a moment, he thinks about his own first time, but quickly shakes that thought away.

The fever hasn’t broken but at the very least, he doesn’t feel dizzy anymore. Scents don’t smell as strong and he can breathe without wanting to set himself on fire again. He appreciates that one of the side effects of his brain pills involves a much shorter cycle. But it doesn’t get him off the hook completely, and he can pick up hints of blueberry muffins again. A sharp spike stabs his temple and he lets out a groan.

“…Yoongi?” Jia’s voice sounds distant and warbled, like listening to her underwater. She’s there, right there, right in front of him, but it doesn’t sound that way at all, and Yoongi considers panicking. This is new.

He doesn’t hit the ground this time and it startles him enough that he lets out a cry. The blueberry muffins overwhelm. Surround. Smother. And the scent belongs to whoever has hold of his arm.

“Hey, you alright?” That voice. It’s the only clear one in the room, even though he’s never heard it before but he wants to hear it again a million times. He swallows hard. This person has to be an alpha.

Yoongi tries to nod but he doesn’t even know if his head is actually moving or not. He forces his eyes to focus, his legs to steady, and still this hand is on his arm. A really, really firm grip. And a lab coat covering an arm. Another pharmacist? He blinks a few more times and moves up to the face he assumes will be there (but maybe not, maybe this is a fever dream and everything’s gone wrong). Kind smile. Small nose. Concerned eyes. Deep auburn hair. This muffin person looks like trouble and Yoongi wants to dive in.

“Come on, Yoongi, let’s sit.” It’s Jia again, all warped and weird, and his feet slide along with her toward the chairs near the pharmacy department. She stoops down in front of him. “Do you want me to bring you some water? Are you going to pass out again?”

“What’s your name?” Yoongi doesn’t make it a point of ignoring people most of the time, but he’s so fully focused on the muffin that he can’t be bothered being polite.

“Me? Uh. Park Jimin.”

Park Jimin. Blueberry muffin. Trouble. Yoongi files that away in his head before leaning forward to rest his head between his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnnnn! A wild Jimin appears! The tags mention Tae and he isn't in this chapter, but he'll be showing up soon. I hope this was decent!


	2. two

At night, when the sleep Yoongi desperately wants fails to show up in any kind of timely manner, he makes a game of replaying his day in his head. Tallying up points for events. Seeing how much of a failure he is for that given day. Today, between almost passing out again and being far too aggressive with Park Jimin, he scores himself a negative twenty. The worst day in a while. Worse than cracking his skull on the sidewalk in front of strangers the day before.

When he turns his phone on again, texts from Namjoon pile up atop one another, drowning out other messages from Hyojin and Seokjin, and one from his mother reminding him that he is loved, and that he needs to maybe clean his room sometime soon. He doesn’t, of course. It’s effort that he doesn’t feel like exerting. He’ll clean when it’s too unmanageable to ignore, as always.

Something in him aches a little, and he closes his eyes with a sigh. Even with wrapping up this cycle, the urge to seek someone out practically overwhelms. But it’s late, and Hyojin has work in the morning, and his other friends are too close to him to feel comfortable using them like that. Even if they offer. Especially if they offer.

He drums his fingertips against his stomach. Masturbating is an option. It’s always an option. But he doesn’t really feel like it, even with the twisty achy feeling that comes along with the cycle. A thought creeps in that he’d rather have Park Jimin on him, _in_ him, and he immediately squashes that. It just comes back, bigger and stronger and out for revenge.

Park Jimin works at the Center, in the pharmacy’s research and development sector, and was there to brief pharmacists on an upcoming sample set being pushed as the best suppressant on the market. Park Jimin has kind of puffy eyes and thick lips and cheeks that are very pinchable and maybe he’s muscular under the lab coat but it was hard to tell. Park Jimin speaks as if every sentence is a song and laughs like every joke is the funniest he’s heard. Park Jimin smells like a fantasy but he’s real and Yoongi just really wanted to touch him. _Still_ wants to touch him.

He could bring Jia lunch tomorrow. Casually show up in something nice. Something flattering. Something that would definitely get the attention of someone like Park Jimin. But that’s so obvious and she’d know something was strange and maybe Park Jimin wouldn’t even be there—

“Hyung?” Yoongi snaps his head toward the bedroom door, and Jeongguk stands there waiting for an invitation in. Yoongi nods, and it takes about three seconds before he’s squashed against his mattress by his much larger brother. “I missed you.”

“I know,” Yoongi says. “Stop with the cry face. I’m fine.”

“You’re okay, right?” Jeongguk asks. “I mean… _really_ okay? Not fake okay?”

“I’m just tired.” He’d been just tired before, plenty of times, and he’s sure saying it again does nothing to curb Jeongguk’s worries. He plants his hand against the side of his brother’s head. “How’d that test go that you were worried about last week?”

“Fine,” Jeongguk says. “Passed.”

“Good, see? I told you you’re too stupid to fail.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.” But he laughs anyway, and Yoongi feels a little bit more like his normal self. “Mom was thinking maybe getting you a cat might make you feel better.”

“Cats don’t exactly cure depression, but okay,” Yoongi scoffs.

She tries. He knows. She tries really really hard to understand and to help and to be there in her own strangely distant way. Like leaving notes around the house instead of talking directly to him, as if he might startle or cry or yell if she says something. Like “inconspicuously” leaving magazines in his room, on his bed, open to articles about how being in the sun can help sadness or how eating whatever the latest fad food is makes a person ten times happier. A cat, at least, is something Yoongi might actually enjoy.

“I met someone today.” It’s abrupt and somewhat strange to offer up that kind of information unprovoked, but once upon a time, he’d tell his stupid perfect brother all sorts of things without worry. “Park Jimin. An alpha like you.”

“Are you about to tell me about you doing it with him?” Jeongguk asks with an extra heap of wariness in his tone.

Yoongi laughs. “No. I mean literally, we just met. He seems nice and he smells like muffins. The blueberry kind you like. He works with Oonie’s girlfriend, kind of. They’re in the same company. Different divisions. I think I freaked him out with almost fainting again.” He stops as Jeongguk sits up. “…What?”

“Nothing.” Jeongguk shakes his head with the remnants of a smile. “That’s just the most I’ve heard you say in…a few months. It’s nice.”

“Ugh, stop,” Yoongi groans.

“Sorry. Tell me more about Park Jimin.”

“That’s all I got right now,” Yoongi says. “I’m thinking of stalking him.”

“Is this you talking or your thing?”

Yoongi doesn’t actually have a good answer.

\+ + + +

Hey, how are you?  
**11:30am**

 **Jia (gf of that guy)**  
Good…are you okay? Is something wrong?  
**11:30am**

Everything is fine, don’t freak out. Just thought I’d say hello.  
**11:32am**

Question. Do you see that research guy a lot?  
**11:33am**

 **Jia (gf of that guy)**  
Jimin? How often is a lot? He comes in sometimes. Sometimes I see him at lunch. Why?  
**11:36am**

\+ + + +

  
Everything is calm. His insides don’t feel like they’re boiling anymore, and the fever’s all but gone. The bouquets all around the Center work better to mask the array of scents around, and he passes by all of the ‘Consent Is Sexy!’ and ‘Choose Safety; Choose Holosel’ posters hanging in the hall.

Yoongi checks his phone one more time to make sure he isn’t too terribly early, then takes a turn down a hallway toward the pharmaceutical center. Jia takes lunch at one, and it’s five minutes before that, and he can see her getting ready for her break as he approaches.

Bringing her lunch to eat with her is definitely weird, and judging by the look on her face, she thinks so too, but he tells himself he’s doing it to get to know his best friend’s girlfriend. It definitely does not have anything to do with Park Jimin, and he definitely doesn’t sniffle a few times to try and figure out if Jimin is close by.

“This is really sweet of you,” Jia says as she pulls a chair out in the employee cafeteria. “I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well.” Yoongi glances around. Tries to spot that fluff of auburn hair again. “So…how’s things?”

“It’s okay,” she laughs quietly. “You don’t have to pretend to care. I know why you’re here. You’re pretty transparent, even if you don’t think you are.”

“Oh.”

“But I’ll definitely take these free lunches while they last.”

It’s strange to Yoongi how nothing really seems to get her down, even being obviously used like this. He starts to think about maybe trying, genuinely trying, to befriend her.  
He twirls his chopsticks in his noodles idly. “You and Oonie doing okay?”

“Pretty good, I think,” she says. “He’s a pretty great guy. His crush on Seokjin is funny.”

Several options run through Yoongi’s head about how to respond, and none of them seem like any of his business. So instead, he laughs quietly, shoves his mouth full of noodles, and ignores it.

\+ + + +

They eat together for the whole week, mostly in silences, sometimes with Jia trying to pull conversation out of him, sometimes with Yoongi actually obliging. Four consecutive days of lunch, with not a single sign of Jimin. Yoongi wants to be disappointed, but he finds himself kind of enjoying having a routine, being in Jia’s company. It makes him feel less like a loser failure worthless piece of unemployed shit.

It isn’t until Friday that that muffin scent wafts across the cafeteria and right into Yoongi’s nose. His head snaps up as soon as he recognizes it. Park Jimin stands barely twenty feet away, smiling and laughing with another, taller guy in a lab coat. They sit at a table, and Jimin pokes a straw through his drink as they continue chatting.

Yoongi thinks maybe breathing is overrated.

“Oh! He’s here,” Jia says, and Yoongi considers a sarcastic comeback but decides against it. “Are you going to go talk to him? He’s friendly!”

Jimin laughs too loudly at something his lunch buddy says. Leans in close to him. Touches his arm in a way that’s definitely not platonic.

“I was thinking instead of pizza tomorrow, maybe Chinese,” Yoongi says, and he looks at Jia for the first time the entire week.

\+ + + +

“So, what I don’t get,” Namjoon says, mouth full of mint chocolate chip ice cream, “is why you spent five days bothering my girlfriend at work trying to see this dude only to wimp out and not even say anything to him.”

“I don’t get it, either,” Yoongi says. He digs his spoon around to scoop up the last of his pumpkin tart ice cream. “But I’ll kick your ass if you try and make fun of me over this.”

“No, no, no mocking,” Namjoon says with a shake of his head. “Just an observation from a concerned citizen. I want you to get whatever it is that’ll make you happy, and if the muffin man will make you happy, then go for him.”

“I don’t know why we’re friends.”

“I reach things in the cabinet for you.”

Getting punched in the arm just makes Namjoon laugh, which makes Yoongi smile a little. It’s tradition, in a twisted sort of way, for Yoongi and Namjoon to have a slumber party after Yoongi gets released. This marks their third time doing it, and Yoongi wants to feel embarrassed that it’s even happened once but Namjoon seems so unbothered about having a friend whose marbles are scattered to the far corners of the earth.

Yoongi sighs and sits his ice cream carton down on the coffee table, then lays his head against Namjoon’s shoulder. Breathing him in is like taking in a giant breath atop a mountain, all cold and breezy and full to the brim with ozone. It’s kind of calming, really.

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Namjoon says. His voice lowers, skirts the edge of caution. “I mean. Maybe you need time to kind of…adjust. You know. Fit back into society before you go fitting yourself into some dude.”

“I really hate you,” Yoongi says. “I don’t fit in society even when I’m _not_ crazy.”

“Come on,” Namjoon groans. “Don’t. You’re not crazy. What have I told you about saying that shit?” Yoongi grunts. “Hyung. Seriously. You’re not crazy. Chemical imbalances don’t mean crazy. And anyway, fitting in is overrated.”

“You literally just said—”

“I think you can carve out a nice niche for yourself without bothering with conformity,” Namjoon continues. “That’s kind of what the rest of us are doing, right? Aside from Hoseok. He’s turned into a square. What I mean is, you can get yourself together, give yourself time to rest and heal and be okay, and then maybe see about getting some dick. You won’t even care about this guy next week when you’re out of the mating mood, anyway. Remember your very very brief obsession with that guy that smelled like gasoline?”

“We coulda been great,” Yoongi pouts.

“And honestly I should be offended that my smell never drives you wild.”

“You’re not an alpha.”

“You’re never going to let that go, huh.”

“Nope.” Yoongi smirks. “You’ve had twenty-two years to accept it, Oonie. Please, just embrace your beta distinction. And bring me more ice cream.”

“Your head is broken, not your feet.” Namjoon scoffs, which just leads to whining, and sighing, and Namjoon shuffling toward his freezer for another pint.

“While you’re up, reheat some food please!”

“You son of—” Namjoon cuts himself off with an annoyed grunt.

Yoongi tucks his feet beneath him on the couch and reaches to poke at his phone to pass the time. He tries to remember if he’d taken both the brain pill and the suppressant for the day, then decides to check his reminder app just in case he’d accidentally skipped a dose.

 **Unknown Number**  
Is this Min Yoongi?  
**22:45pm**

Maybe? Who is this?  
**22:46pm**

 **Unknown Number**  
Oh! Hi! This is Jimin! ^A^ Jia-sshi said you had questions about Davirex!  
**22:46pm**

Yoongi presses his thumb to his phone hard enough to accidentally knock a widget out of place. This was not part of his plan; his plan was to forget Park Jimin exists and live a full and happy life of solitude. He considers texting Jia—no, calling Jia—to yell. He considers swinging by her house to kick her in the shin. He promptly deletes Jimin’s messages.

 **Unknown Number**  
I can answer a few things, if you want! Sorry if it’s late, I just got home. x_x  
**22:47pm**

“Here.” Namjoon’s voice startles Yoongi and he tosses the phone to the floor. “…Okay. What are you doing, looking at porn?”

“That’s what _you_ do,” Yoongi mutters as he grasps the bowl Namjoon holds out to him. “ _I_ was playing a game.”

“Was it that scary one with the bears and shit?” Namjoon guesses. “That shit’s freaky.”

“Yeah…scary bears and shit.” The phone chimes again. And again. Yoongi hopes maybe the battery will die before he’s forced to check again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really could've been called "Yoongi doesn't know how to people." Poor kid.


	3. three

**Unknown Number**  
So basically Davirex is a lot like Holosel, but in pill form! :o Two cycles per year, very minimal side effects, not as harsh as Nagaxene, no need to take it at the exact same time daily like Astaria! BASICALLY THE BEST SUPPRESSANT EVARRRRRR!  
**22:48**

But not just because I helped develop it. It’s just actually really good and we’re still negotiating costs but we’re aiming for it to be at a lower price point! Like, Astaria low!  
**22:48**

Side effects are some nausea/dizziness the first few weeks taking it and that’s about it! It’s amaaayyyyziiiiinggggggggg and I’m excited about it. It should be on the market in about six months!  
**22:49**

What do you take? Or do you get one of the Holosel shots? Is that too personal? Sorry I’ll calm down. .__.  
**22:50**

Anyway I’ll answer whatever questions you have that I’m able to answer! I like talking about it.  
**22:54**

Namjoon has been snoring for three hours and Yoongi finds himself too busy staring at his phone to smack his friend into rolling over and shutting up. It’s late, way later than most normal people with jobs and normal lives stay awake, but he really wants to respond to the texts he’d pointedly ignored earlier. He sighs and lays his head on Namjoon’s hip to scroll back to the top of the text thread again. Trying to read them in Jimin’s voice proves a bit difficult, since they hadn’t spoken very much at all, but he tries anyway.

Normal people with jobs and normal lives also tended to put their phones on vibrate or silent to sleep, don’t they? Maybe texting Jimin now wouldn’t disturb him. And it’d be less terrible than waiting another half a day before saying something. Yoongi definitely thinks responding now may not disturb Jimin. And anyway, it’s Saturday night; normal people with jobs and normal lives sometimes stayed up late on the weekends. Not Namjoon, obviously, but others.

I’m pretty broke so I’m on Astaria. New pill sounds interesting, maybe I’ll ask my doc about it, thanks.  
**04:13**

  
**Unknown Number**  
DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?!  
**04:14**

Why are you awake?????!  
**04:14**

Yoongi triple-checks the phone. He starts to think about whether or not visual hallucinations are a side effect of his new antidepressants. But no, the texts don’t disappear. He turns the phone on and off, and the texts are still there. Somehow, getting a response never factored into his head. He considers giving an honest answer—that he’s never been much of a sleeper, that his brain doesn’t know how to shut down, that he’s way too anxious to close his eyes and keep them closed. It all seems ridiculous so he doesn’t say any of it.

 **Unknown Number**  
Oh no are you actually asleep and I got your text on a delay? OH NO I’M SORRY.  >.<  
**04:24**

I’m awake. Not really tired. Why are you awake?  
**04:25**

 **Unknown Number**  
I don’t sleep a lot sometimes. I was on Astaria for a while but now I take Nagaxene. I’d do the shot but I don’t like needles. =.=;;  
**04:25**

I’ll probably switch to Davirex though once it’s all official-like.  
**04:25**

Hey how are you feeling btw? Still woozy?  
**04:26**

Oh. No, I’m okay, thanks for asking. Just overheated.  
**04:27**

 **Unknown Number**  
HA! PUN!  
**04:28**

Wait did you mean that as a pun?  
**04:28**

An unfamiliar feeling kickstarts in Yoongi and he thinks maybe it’s something adjacent to happiness. His cheeks hurt and he realizes he’s been grinning since the first text came in, but making his jaw lax doesn’t work. He sits up, takes the blanket Namjoon kicked away to wrap around his shoulders.

I didn’t but I’m glad it made you laugh. You should get to sleep.  
**04:31**

 **Unknown Number**  
So should you! Sleep well, let me know if you have any other med questions! :D  
**04:32**

Oh…I might have a few more, but I’ll just ask later. Goodnight.  
**04:32**

 **Unknown Number**  
Niiiiiight!  
**04:33**

Two weeks ago, just before getting ready to be released from the hospital, Yoongi met with a doctor. The doctor had gone over every pill option and the two variations of the Holosel shot, and how each of them might interact with his new antidepressants. Yoongi knows more about each of these suppressants than everyone he knows. He doesn’t have any med questions, but he spends the next twenty minutes pecking out a few possibilities in a note on his phone.

\+ + + +

They text with semi-regularity for the rest of the weekend. Yoongi asks the most basic questions he can come up with about various suppressants, and Jimin answers them with all the enthusiasm and excitement of a terrier puppy in text form. It’s endearing, and strange, and a little intimidating, but Yoongi finds himself spending more time looking at his phone than looking anywhere else. He ignores Namjoon’s teasing about it.

On Monday, he brings bulgogi burritos and milk tea for lunch with Jia. It’s nice, he thinks, to have something to do with his time other than sit in his room thinking about every wrong turn he’s made in his life. He’d mentioned lunches with Jia briefly to Jimin, but didn’t think much of it until spotting Jimin coming toward them. He nearly drops his burrito.

“Hi!” Jimin grins, hand resting against the back of a chair. “Can I sit?”

“Hey, sure,” Jia says.

She looks to Yoongi and tries to give a reassuring smile, but he doesn’t feel the least bit comforted by it. All he can think about is the fact that this is the closest they’ve ever gotten to each other, ignoring that time he almost fainted. He’s too close. Way, way too close, and that tight chest, underwater hearing thing comes back again. It doesn’t make sense; his cycle ended days ago and he’s not even the least bit feverish but Jia’s talking and it just sounds like waves and everything is fuzzy except for Jimin and his horn-rimmed glasses and black and white plaid button-up shirt and silly little pill mascot pin on the lapel of his lab coat. Jimin comes through loud and clear.

“Sorry, excuse me,” Yoongi mumbles as he gets up from his chair. It clatters to the floor and he trips over a leg of it but he doesn’t look back to see if they’re concerned at all about him.

Cold water from the bathroom sink does nothing to fix the underwater feeling, but at least his chest feels slightly better. He sighs heavily, stares at himself in the mirror, and frowns. The printout of side effects for his antidepressants is at home and he wishes he kept it on him to figure out if maybe this was some kind of weird reaction. It had to be. The only alternative to that was—

Fuck.

Nope, it definitely was not _that_. It was his meds, and he’d have to go back to the doctor to see about switching them. He pulls out his phone to make a note to schedule an appointment just as he starts to smell blueberry muffins again.

“Hey…are you okay?” Jimin asks. His voice is too loud and he’s too close again and Yoongi hisses at the jab of the soap dispenser into his back as he retreats. Jimin stops walking forward. “Um. Should I get Jia…?”

“No! No. I’m fine,” Yoongi says. “I’m fine. Just…you stay over there.”

“Oh. Okay…what—Oh.” Jimin laughs quietly. “Oh, sorry, are you an omega? Sorry.”

“What? _No_ , I’m not—I’m a beta,” Yoongi says.

“Really? Huh. Okay,” Jimin nods. “Okay, so I’ll stay at least fifty feet away until you’re off—”

“I’m not _on_.” He holds his breath in the hopes that that might block out Jimin’s scent but all that does is make the dizziness resurface.

“Oh…I don’t actually know what I should do here.”

“Just…leave please.”

Jimin hesitates. Yoongi does what he can not to focus on Jimin’s bright eyes or those cheeks or his hands as he nudges his glasses back up on his nose. He looks like he wants to say something else, but nothing comes out before he turns and leaves the bathroom. Yoongi, still tense, stands still for a while before reaching up to run his hands through his hair and letting out one loud fuck before splashing his face again.

\+ + + +

A tiny kitten sits in the center of Yoongi’s bed as he walks back into his room, towel around his neck and toothbrush in his mouth. There’s no note nearby, no indication that his mother crept in during his shower other than the little black cat batting at the end of the ribbon around its neck. Yoongi considers being annoyed, but the kitten lets out a nearly inaudible croak of a meow and he’s instantly turned to mush.

“Okay, cat,” he says as best he can without spitting toothpaste everywhere. He picks the kitten up and carries it back toward the bathroom.

Thursdays are Hoseok’s new off day from the hospital, and he’d texted about getting dinner with Yoongi and Namjoon early on in the day. Yoongi hadn’t left his house since Monday, not after coming home from that disastrous lunch wanting to disappear into a forest. He’d rated that day negative thirty-six. Telling Hoseok he no longer wanted to socialize with other humans had been a mistake, and now he was having to pay for it by being forced out into the world. He wonders if maybe he can back out of it now that he has a kitten to look after.

“Can I come?” Jeongguk asks.

Yoongi stops in his bathroom doorway before letting out a heavy sigh. “I’m locking my fucking door,” he announces, glaring at his little brother lying on his bed. He drops the kitten on Jeongguk’s chest as he passes to head toward his closet. Nevermind that his door no longer has a lock.

“Isn’t she cute?” Jeongguk laughs some. “I helped pick her out. What are you naming her?”

“ _You_ name her,” Yoongi says as he slides into a thin heather gray shirt with too-long sleeves. “I didn’t ask for a cat.”

“Okay, then I’ll name her Licorice.”

Yoongi scoffs. “That’s a really shitty name. Name her…I dunno. Killer.” He pauses. “Yeah. Name her that.”

Jeongguk laughs again but doesn’t bother disputing.

\+ + + +

Hoseok has a habit of choosing restaurants he knows are out of the others’ price points with the express purpose of forcing them to let him treat them. Yoongi frowns at the menu in front of him, at all of the regular-sounding dishes with ridiculous prices. Part of him wants to complain, but the other part is determined to order as much as he can just to make Hoseok regret always doing this.

“So that was fun,” Hoseok wraps up a story with a roll of his eyes. “Gross bits everywhere. One of the other nurses threw up.”

“Do we really have to talk about that right before we eat?” Namjoon frowns. “Nobody wants to hear your nasty hospital horror stories.”

“Oh right, I’m dining with regular people right now,” Hoseok says. “This is coffee talk for nurses, y’know. Trading war stories. Trying to top each other. Speaking of trying to top each other, how’s Seokjinnie, Namjoon?”

Namjoon chokes on his wine.

With that goal accomplished, Hoseok turns his overly-large grin to Yoongi. “Anyway. Look at you! All out of shitty hospital rooms and walking around! How are you feeling? You’re doing okay?”

“Please don’t use that tone,” Yoongi says. He hated that ‘I’m trying to be sympathetic’ sad lilt people took on when asking him about himself. Hoseok stops smiling as widely and nods tersely. “I’m okay. I mean…” He sighs and shakes away the lie. “No, I just think maybe I need to not be around anybody right now. I’m not ready to pretend to be sociable and it was stupid to try and make friends.”

“Okay.” Hoseok nods. “Did you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Jia says she misses you at lunch,” Namjoon says. “Whenever you’re done being super embarrassed…I think she’d appreciate your company again. Just so you don’t think it was a waste of your time.”

“Yeah no I can’t go back there,” Yoongi says. “I’ll see her this weekend.”

“So, I didn’t get every single detail,” Hoseok says, and Yoongi braces himself for the oncoming unsolicited advice, “but can I just throw my two cents out there?”

“You’re gonna do it anyway,” Namjoon remarks.

“I think maybe instead of hiding from this guy, and from Jia, you should just jump right back in there.” Hoseok swats at Namjoon’s arm as he speaks. “Just apologize for disappearing, and move on. If they’re good people, they won’t care. I mean you went three months without speaking to me once, remember? And we just picked right up, easy peasy. Worthwhile friends are understanding. And you could use more worthwhile friends.”

“I have, like…five friends.” Yoongi glowers. “That’s plenty.”

“You have two friends, a brother, an acquaintance, and a fuck buddy,” Hoseok says. “Make another friend.”

Summing up his relationships like that makes Yoongi feel even worse. He frowns, gets quiet, lets Namjoon order food for him once their server wanders back. It isn’t untrue, but he doesn’t know why it sounds so bad when Hoseok says it. Or why he feels like maybe Hoseok is judging him for it. Not that Hoseok ever would. Not according to Logical Yoongi. But Logical Yoongi seems to have gone into hibernation, and Anxious Yoongi just thinks he should just ditch everyone and lock himself away again.

His phone vibrates before he can think up an excuse to bail on dinner, and he promptly tucks his anxiety away in favor of something warmer, more welcome, as he reads his text.

 **Unknown Number**  
Hi, I hope you’re doing ok. You weren’t in the cafeteria today and Jia-sshi said you hadn’t come all week. :( I was hoping to see you!  
**20:04**

Even after reading six times, it still feels just as nice. _I was hoping to see you!_ No one ever hoped to see him, at least not that Yoongi is aware. But Jimin, Park Jimin and his blueberry muffin smell and his squishy cheeks and cute little smile…This boy hoped to see him. He feels his cheeks heating up at the thought. His thumb rubs against the screen a few times, almost petting the text, before he takes a deep breath.

Sorry. Had a random bug thing. Feeling better. I’ll be there tomorrow.  
**20:06**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a lot of texting. I don't know why it's so much texting. But hey, a tiny bit of progress with Yoongi maybe learning how to people maybe sort of...okay not at all. I tried.


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to really quickly say - thank you so much for reading and leaving such amazing comments. Seriously, it makes me so happy. So so happy and I can't even explain how nice it feels to have people read my words and enjoy them so much. Okay sorry for the mushiness I love you guys bye.

Jia called in earlier that day, according to the short omega girl that works with her that Yoongi flagged down to ask. Jia called in, and Yoongi is stuck at the entrance to the employee cafeteria, bag full of carefully-packed ramen and on the verge of panicking. He can’t very well go in, not without a pass, and even if he _did_ go in, he’d have to sit alone. _Alone_. In the middle of dozens—hundreds?—of McNally Center employees, completely out of place. They’d just throw him right out, maybe arrest him for trespassing—

“Yoongi-sshi!”

The chain of negativity snaps as Yoongi hears Jimin, and he turns. Jimin waves quickly, smile wide. He stops beside Yoongi and presses his employee ID to the scanner, then walks in and pulls Yoongi along. It’s dizzying again to be that close, but Yoongi keeps his mouth shut about it and hopes maybe with enough exposure to Jimin, to whatever it is about Jimin that’s making him sick, he’ll get over it.

“What are you doing standing around?” Jimin asks.

“I…Jia. Jia’s not here and I didn’t know what to do so—”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” They start toward one of the food vendors, and Yoongi tries not to feel even more nervous and out of place. He’d never gone past the seats in the cafeteria considering he’d always brought outside food with him for them.

“Um. She isn’t here so I have a spare bowl of ramen if…if you want it,” Yoongi says.

“Oh. Okay, thank you!” Jimin chuckles and pulls Yoongi along to a seat instead. “I should start placing orders with you if you keep bringing in lunch like this.”

“Do you want me to bring lunch for you too?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Jimin says with a shake of his head. “But if you let me eat with you two every once in a while, I’d like that.”

“Sure,” Yoongi nods. He watches Jimin carefully unwrapping the ramen bowl, wadding up the cling wrap and sitting it aside, then unwrapping a pair of chopsticks. It’s so simple, so freaking mundane, but he can’t bring himself to look away. “I’ll bring you lunch anyway.”

“Then I’ll owe you,” Jimin says. He nods, then stuffs a mouthful of noodles into his mouth and lets out a pleased hum. Once he’s managed to slurp them down, he straightens in his seat again and smiles at Yoongi. “So, do you work nearby?”

This is the part where Jimin, adorable and accomplished Jimin, decides not to bother with an unemployed loser, Yoongi is certain. The warmth in his chest from watching Jimin immediately chills into heavy little ice cubes that plink into the pit of his stomach.

“I’m not working right now,” he says. And Jimin doesn’t wince, or look horrified, or laugh. He simply nods, side-swept bangs fluttering against his face.

“School?” Yoongi shakes his head, and Jimin smiles. “I miss not working. Responsibility is terrible. Did you know you have to pay bills _every month_?”

The laugh Yoongi barks out gets the attention of a couple of employees nearby but Yoongi can’t even be bothered to feel embarrassed. All he feels is warmth and coziness and maybe a little dizziness and nothing else around them even matters. None of it registers. Everything is Jimin Jimin Jimin.

He listens as Jimin talks about working with much older people, about graduating early near the top of his class (“Two tenths of a point! Two tenths, can you believe that? I’m still angry.”), about living away from his family for the first time. Jimin tells Yoongi about his roommate slash best friend in the universe, a childcare teacher named Taehyung who swears like a sailor and has a knack for getting them into trouble. He tells of the time he and Taehyung wanted to get a puppy but decided to start with fish and each thought the other was feeding their tiny school; they decided not to get a puppy after all.

‘Rapt’ isn’t strong enough for how attentive Yoongi is through all of it. He doesn’t even remember whether he’s breathed or not. The only thing that matters is hearing more of Jimin’s voice, like silk against his skin. Jimin eats, and chats, and Yoongi hasn’t even opened his ramen.

“Are you okay?” Jimin asks.

“What? No, yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay…You just looked a little dazed.” Jimin smiles again. “I got worried you might pass out again.”

“No, I’m okay,” Yoongi says as his heart speeds to uncomfortable levels. Jimin is too close again, his hand creeping closer to Yoongi’s. And the second he presses down, gives Yoongi’s hand a reassuring pat, Yoongi feels like he might explode. He jerks his hand back and immediately feels guilty as Jimin’s face falls. “Sorry. Um. Actually I don’t feel that great. You know…you know your scent is really strong?”

“Really?” Jimin’s eyes get wide, his head dipping toward his armpit and _Jesus_ why is he so adorable? “You sure? No one ever really comments…Maybe your nose is just super sensitive.”

“Maybe,” Yoongi mutters. He knows that isn’t the case, but his head starts to radiate with pain badly enough that he doesn’t feel like arguing. “Maybe you could just…wear a masker or something around me.”

“Sure, sure,” Jimin nods. “Sorry again. You’re kinda like my grandma! She smells things really strongly, too. Could barely stand to be in the same room as anyone else if they weren’t wearing a masker or two.”

“Please don’t compare me to your grandma.”

Jimin laughs as he starts to tidy up the table. “Well you’re both really tiny,” he says. “Kinda crabby…Okay don’t glare like that. It’s adorable.”

“Stop,” Yoongi says, fighting off his own smile. “You’re pretty much my height, what are you even talking about?”

“You’re a tiny hedgehog,” Jimin declares. “I should call you Sonic.”

“Do _not_ call me Sonic.”

“Fine, Grandma, I won’t call you Sonic.”

\+ + + +

Licorice Killer loudly eats a few kitten treats by Yoongi’s head as he lies awake, buried beneath his covers and staring at his phone. He’d finally saved Jimin’s phone number to his contacts, which made it slightly less awkward while watching and waiting for texts to come through. Jimin had said he doesn’t sleep much sometimes, and Yoongi thinks maybe he could text him now, with the rest of his house stilled by sleep, to maybe keep him company. But that seems kind of forward—way too forward. He sighs, then scrolls back to the top of the texts again to start over.

 **Muffins**  
I had fun at lunch! See you Monday?  
**23:44**

He startles enough that it knocks the kitten off balance and she lets out a plaintive mewl. His hand juts out to calm her down, mumbling an apology before going back to reading the text a few times over. Responding too quickly might seem desperate but taking too long would seem disinterested and Yoongi really has no idea when he started worrying so much about a simple thing like texting. He sighs, sits up, sits Licorice Killer in the cavern between his crossed legs.

So actually my friend’s got a thing this weekend, you could come if you want. You don’t have to, just thought I’d ask.  
**23:47**

 **Muffins**  
What kind of a thing? :O I like things!  
**23:48**

A rap thing, he does rap battles and wow that sounds stupid written down. But he’s good. Like really good. I dunno if you like rap or whatever, you really don’t have to come, sorry.  
**23:49**

 **Muffins**  
I’ve never been to a rap battle. Should I wear a hoodie?  
**23:49**

Is it gonna be all dark and underground with a ton of people?  
**23:50**

If spontaneous dancing happens I could be useful. I’m kind of a great dancer.  
**23:50**

Text me the info, I’ll be there! ^_^  
**23:51**

\+ + + +

It isn’t underground, but there _are_ a ton of people, and Yoongi thinks maybe that will be enough to keep Jimin’s attention. Yoongi tugs on the sleeves of his light jacket, trying to scan the crowd as casually as possible. Hyojin and Hoseok chat excitedly just to his right, and ahead of him, Jia and Seokjin make uneasy conversation. He’s pretty sure Jeongguk came with them but at some point lost track of the boy. He makes note to look for his stupid perfect brother while keeping an eye out for Jimin.

A pair of mediocre rappers takes to the tiny stage first and still no sign of Jimin. Yoongi’s hands clutch his phone hard enough that he worries about cracking the screen. Texting to see if he’d gotten lost was okay, wasn’t it? Maybe he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. This little club was definitely easy to miss. He stands on his toes one more time to look toward the door, then sighs and allows himself to send a quick text to Jimin about their location to the right of the stage. Jimin responds almost immediately with an apology an a million little embarrassed emojis. The train, apparently, had a delay and he was walking toward the venue right now.

It takes Yoongi a couple of minutes and one near-fight to shove his way through people and make it to the door with perfect timing. Jimin looks around as soon as he walks in and locks eyes with Yoongi within ten seconds. The time feels more like hours to Yoongi, though—everything in the venue becomes muddled and muddy as soon as Jimin is nearby. He finds himself holding his breath again, but mostly because Jimin looks so very different outside of his lab coat; he looks younger, ears pierced a few times each, tight dark denim jeans with a rolled cuff, baggy sage green sweater that looks meticulously unraveled in spots.

Jimin smiles and Yoongi doesn’t bother trying not to smile back this time, though it falters some as Jimin grabs the hand of the guy next to him.

“Okay, lesson for the evening, leave early,” Jimin says, dragging the other guy along behind him. “I’m so sorry. Did we miss him?”

“No…”

Yoongi has a thousand questions about this guy, starting with wondering who he is that Jimin is so comfortable hanging on him the way he is. He’s taller, with a sharper face and wide, impossibly dark eyes that take up a sizable chunk of his face. He seems more interested in checking out their surroundings than obliging Jimin’s touchy-feely antics.

“Oh awesome,” Jimin says with a relieved sigh. “This is Taehyung.”

“Sup,” Taehyung gives a half-nod, not even looking at Yoongi.

“Hey.” Yoongi tries to unfurl the prickliness lest Jimin call him a hedgehog again. “You can follow me.”

He turns to lead the way toward the others but Jimin’s hand curling into his gives him pause. He turns, blinking at Jimin a few times, before trying his best not to fall over from how intensely the touching affects him. His heart feels like it’s being whirred around in a paint mixer and he wants to pull away but the rest of him wants to bury himself closer to Jimin, cling to him the way Jimin clings to Taehyung. He settles for letting Jimin’s hand go and standing slightly closer than he normally would.

“This is Jimin,” he says, gesturing. “And his roommate Taehyung.”

“Sup,” Taehyung nods again.

Jimin’s grin doubles. “I know you!” he shouts, pointing at Hoseok. “You were my TA!”

“Huh? Oh! Oh, wow, small world!” Hoseok says. “Annoying Overachiever! I thought I’d gotten rid of you.”

Jimin ignores the half-assed insult and flings himself at Hoseok. “Nope! I found you!” Jimin sings it, sticking close to Hoseok with an arm around his neck. Yoongi can feel himself glaring, feels his hands turning to fists at his sides, but he looks toward the stage instead of saying something.

Three more battles pass with little interest from Yoongi. He alternates between watching Hoseok and Jimin being too friendly for his liking and scoping around for his missing brother. It’s unreasonable, feeling so intensely jealous of how easy things happen between Hoseok and Jimin. Unreasonable for him to want to rip them away from each other and stake some kind of claim on Jimin. Jimin isn’t his; they’re barely even friends. He excuses himself when the fourth pairing takes the stage to get some air.

Said air is clear for forty-five whole seconds.

“Crazy, right?” Jimin says as he leans against the wall near Yoongi. The muffin scent isn’t hitting him in the face as much, and Yoongi glances to Jimin’s wrist to see a glimpse of a thick black band. He smiles a little; Jimin remembered the masker. “You being friends with my favorite TA. I had such a crush on him!”

“He’s a good guy,” Yoongi mutters as that flit of joy gets shoved back down again. “You should ask him out.”

He doesn’t look over, but he can feel Jimin watching him. “Really?”

He shrugs. “He’s single, you’re single, may as well.”

“Oh. Well…Maybe. I’ll think about it.” Jimin kicks at some dust at their feet. “He’s a beta like you, right?”

“Mm.”

“I have such trouble telling between betas and omegas sometimes. Alphas are pretty obvious. I mean obviously. Usually I’m right about alphas maybe ninety-eight percent of the time. Betas and omegas, though…not even fifty.”

Yoongi doesn’t want to have this conversation. He doesn’t want to think about Hoseok and Jimin. He doesn’t want to be at this place anymore but disappointing Namjoon yet again would just make him feel ten times worse. He tries to get his heart to calm the fuck down, tries to tell himself he has zero business dictating who Jimin should be with. Tries not to feel like shit for suggesting it in the first place.

“You’re really hard to read,” Jimin says rather suddenly. “I don’t get you. Not yet anyway.” Yoongi turns his head, and Jimin smiles, a different smile than his others and Yoongi isn’t quite sure but this one seems more genuine. “But I’ll figure you out eventually.”

Yoongi walks back inside just as the audience swells in applause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've now reached the self-sabotage portion of the evening. Sigh.


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This starts out with some sexytimes, and there's a mention, a very brief mention, of razorblades, but no action with said blades, in case either of those is a thing you want to steer clear of. You can safely skip to the last two segments, if so, and I'll gladly summarize what you missed if you need me to.

“You know what you need to do.” Hyojin speaks and it sounds more like a statement than a question and Yoongi doesn’t really mind it so much. Her hips grind, drag against his own and he’s really quite over this teasing and just wants to get to the good stuff. He sighs and closes his eyes as she digs her too-sharp nails against his stubbly jaw. “You need to just let it happen. Throw the pills away. Let yourself feel what you’re feeling.”

“Yeah I don’t actually wanna do that,” Yoongi mutters into her chest. Her skin smells of raspberries and coldness. She might be his favorite scent, other than blueberry muffins.

She laughs, a high-pitched little squeak before leaning back and reaching to unhook her bra and he can’t take his eyes off of her. It’s not an SOS, not this time, but she’s still cycling and he’s still willing to help her through it however he can. His hands slide up her pale stomach and she shudders.

“Don’t you want to try just once, though?” she asks in a hushed tone. He kisses between her breasts, slowly, and shakes his head. “God, I swear, the system’s got everyone so brainwashed—”

“I’m literally just here to fuck you, can we not get into this whole ‘damn the man’ thing right now?”

The laugh that follows acts as a yes, and Yoongi feels himself slip easily out of his head, all of the anxieties there, and into Hyojin. She’s strong, holding herself easily over him and setting the pace with slow rolls of her hips, and when she’s like this, she’s practically insatiable. Eyes shut, pouty red mouth parted just so with abandon, hand wrapped around the back of his neck for leverage. He doesn’t have to work at all, but he finds himself rolling his hips up to meet hers. It’s a comfortable rhythm, if not slower than he’d really like.

He thinks, after a few moments of watching the ecstasy on her face, that maybe she’s right. Maybe it would be better to just throw the suppressants out the window and let himself feel whatever the hell it is he’s feeling with Jimin. But the thought of being so out of control, so overcome by the urge to fuck anyone, everyone, appeals to him less than discussing the pitfalls of the system. Still, maybe doing that would help him get over Jimin. Or under him.

“You’re the best,” she growls against him, his lower lip clamped between her teeth hard enough that one false move would mean a mouth full of blood. She tugs his lip a little before roughly kissing him again, tongue working to claim every inch of his mouth before she moves to lap at his jaw. “You fuck me the best.”

He whines, just barely, and presses new bruises into her hips. The biting and clawing, her chest flush against his, it helps him forget about being such a fuck-up long enough to come with a whimper. Her hips stop for a second before she sits closer to him and works her hips in tight little circles to get herself off. If he weren’t so fed up with himself, he’d probably be a bit more help to her.

“Fuck, Yoongi, I’m serious,” she sighs once she comes down from her orgasm. Her kisses against his temple turn more tender, her touch ginger and kind. “I really do like you. I like this. It’s nice with you.”

“Can I ask you something super personal with the stipulation that you don’t punch me?”

They watch each other, Hyojin with suspicion and Yoongi with what he hopes is empathy.

“Maybe.”

“When you went off the pill…When you met…What was it like before you stopped and after?”

She sighs, reaching to brush Yoongi’s sweaty bangs back from his forehead before getting off of him. He watches her walk out of the room, listens to the bathroom door slip closed, waits for her to come back. For a second, he considers apologizing for bringing up a touchy subject, but before he can, she speaks.

“Before I stopped, being apart from her felt like I was dying,” she says as she reaches for her hairbrush. “Like…I was boiling and freezing at the same time and I just wanted to be with her. Just near her, all the time, no matter what. And then next to her it felt…better, but a different kind of death. Happier death, I guess. Like my heart was going crazy and I couldn’t focus on anyone or anything else.”

“And after?”

“After…” He sees her smile, just barely, in the mirror. “After it just felt less stifling, I guess. Like I felt the same rush around her, the same kind of sadness without her, but it’s like suppressing natural urges just makes them worse or something. I threw up a lot before I stopped taking them, never got sick once around her after. Why? Are you finally acknowledging your totally gay feelings for Namjoon?”

He smiles, then gets up to go toward the bathroom himself.

\+ + + +

“You can’t teach cats to sit,” Yoongi remarks, glancing to Namjoon on the floor.

“I can and I will.” Namjoon holds the cat treat higher over Licorice Killer’s head but all it accomplishes is getting her to stand on her hind legs.

Yoongi scoffs and buries himself deeper in his closet to continue his search for his missing hoodie. Sundays meant Namjoon inviting himself over for dinner and refusing to leave without it, and Jeongguk being particularly annoying and insistent upon hanging out with them. They’d once meant Hoseok joining in, but lately he’d been doing weekends at the hospital for extra cash; Yoongi doesn’t particularly miss him for once, all things considered.

“You really didn’t take it?” Yoongi calls out.

“I really didn’t,” Jeongguk insists. “Maybe you left it with Hyojin.”

Yoongi grunts and slides back out into his room, shutting the closet door. The near-constant meowing and Namjoon’s intermittent calls of sit and Jeongguk’s laughing do well to distract Yoongi from his phone, but not well enough. He flings himself onto his bed, grasps the phone, unlocks it to stare and try to will Jimin into texting. He could text first, of course. He probably _should_ , in the form of an apology for being such a standoffish prick, but a significant part of him just wants to know that maybe, across the city or wherever Jimin lives, this boy’s thinking of him, too. He sighs when nothing happens.

Nothing continues happening—five, ten minutes on, through dinner, after tossing Namjoon out for feeding Licorice Killer too many treats that result in her throwing up on Yoongi’s bed. Nothing starts to sting a little as Jeongguk makes up an absurdly flimsy excuse for needing to sleep with Yoongi. The deep disappointment with that nothing lingers as Jeongguk snores lightly beside him, hand stretched out mid-pet, the tiny kitten still rubbing her head against Jeongguk’s palm.

“This is stupid,” Yoongi mumbles. “Do I text him, Killer?” The kitten whines, and he smiles and reaches to scoot her to rest against his neck. “Good idea.”

I hope the rest of your weekend was good.  
**00:32**

 **Muffins**  
Hey! :D It was OK. We went to a farmer’s market and then arcade. How was your day???  
**00:33**

Not as exciting as that. Hung out with a friend earlier. Played with my cat. Watched Namjoon try to do the impossible.  
**00:34**

You and Taehyung went?  
**00:35**

 **Muffins**  
Yeah! And Hoseok came to the arcade. I wanted to invite you but you seemed like I was the last person you ever wanted to talk to again, so…  
**00:35**

I’m kind of surprised to hear from you! Good surprise. But still surprised.  
**00:36**

“Stupid idea, Killer,” Yoongi frowns. The kitten meows again. He sighs and starts to curl up before remembering Jimin already thinks of him as a hedgehog. No, this time, he wouldn’t turn inward. He wouldn’t shrink up or avoid his phone or do anything else stupid.

Sorry. I was a jerk. I’m kind of always a jerk. You don’t want to be friends with me honestly.  
**00:38**

 **Muffins**  
I generally like making that choice myself but if you’re determined to make it for me, I guess I can accept that.  
**00:39**

Honestly the mixed signals are kind of aggravating. I want to get to know you and you won’t let me!  
**00:39**

You’re kind of a mess, Hedgie. You should go to bed and we’ll try this again tomorrow, okay? :)  
**00:40**

Tell me you’ll see me at lunch.  
**00:46**

I’ll see you at lunch.  
**00:46**

\+ + + +

Yoongi doesn’t make it to lunch. He spends the rest of the night repeating in his head that he’s a mess, and by the time sleep finally shows, the sun has long since risen and Jeongguk is out of the bed and on his way to Monday’s classes. Yoongi wakes early in the evening, still groggy, and shuffles his way to his bathroom to wash up.

He’s a mess, and now Jimin knows he’s a mess, and he’ll never be able to be close to him and there’s honestly no point to anything anymore. He glances to the corner of his medicine cabinet, to the empty spot where his stash of razors had been, and feels a tiny burst of panic at how easily the thought of wanting them back comes into his mind. He leaves the bathroom without accomplishing anything.

In the living room, his mother sits on the sofa. The television plays a religious telethon just a hair too loudly, and the phone rings without any hint at her reaching to pick it up. He watches her from the hallway, debating moving closer to speak to her, before turning to go into the kitchen. The air smells like lasagna and he glances into the trash can for a box; she rarely ever made things from scratch.

The house phone stops ringing finally, and Yoongi makes his movements even quieter without that added buffer. He’s given away not even ten seconds later as his phone chimes in his pocket.

“God…fuck,” he growls some, fumbling to try and stop it. 6:30. Time for his pill.

“Jeongguk?” His mother turns to look toward the front door, then back to the kitchen. Her face falls. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Yoongi says. “Sorry. Getting water, then I’m gone.”

“No, it’s okay.” It isn’t okay, and he can see the tension in her face, in the way she grips the back of the sofa a little harder. “…How are you?”

“Fine.”

“How’s…the kitten?”

“Fine.”

“Are you hungry…?”

“Nope. Gotta go take my pill or I die or something, okay good talk.”

He doesn’t hate her. He’s never hated her. But he hasn’t exactly forgiven her, either.

\+ + + +

It takes Yoongi two hours to decide to text Jimin. Then another half an hour of banter and apologizing for bailing before deciding to ask him to dinner. The nerves make it hard to sit still on the entire bus ride across town, and he considers just staying on board and looping back around to go home. But he sees himself off at the right stop, and he walks toward the diner, and he marches himself to the booth that Jimin waves to him from.

“You look nice,” Jimin says, and Yoongi glances to his shirt, a plain black long sleeve t-shirt borrowed from Jeongguk. He smiles a little before sitting. “Jia-sshi and I were worried when you weren’t at lunch! Good to know you just slept through it.”

“Sorry,” he says. “You look nice too.”

“Thanks!” Jimin grins. “It’s good to see you not all woozy-eyed and frowny. You must’ve really needed the rest.”

“Yeah…must’ve.” Yoongi brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “But…I think it’s you.”

“Eh?”

“You. Your scent. It’s really fucking strong,” Yoongi says. “Not right this second, not with the masker, which—thanks, by the way. But before that when it was just you, it made me want to puke everywhere.”

“Where is this going?”

“It’s just weird, is all,” Yoongi shrugs. “It’s not something I’ve felt before and it’s really intense and it’s hard to be around you but…I want to be around you.”

It’s hard to look at Jimin, but he steals a quick glance, long enough to see the corners of Jimin’s mouth twitch into a small smile. It does nothing to curb the dizziness.

“And you never say anything,” Yoongi continues, the silence overwhelming. “Not ever. I comment on your smell and you don’t ever seem to even notice mine and I guess it’s weird to me, I dunno, fuck it, I don’t know what I’m talking about. Order what you want, I’ll pay.”

“Okay,” Jimin says with a nod. He picks his menu up and starts to scan, and Yoongi feels his hedgehog spines starting to poke out again.

It’s his own fault. It’s his fault for thinking that saying something, speaking up for once, would actually lead to anything good. He’s making things exponentially worse with every encounter and he wants to crawl into the earth and hide forever. He settles for hiding his hands within the sleeves of his shirt, thankful that his brother’s arms are far longer than his own.

“It’s lemon,” Jimin says after they place their orders. Yoongi lifts his head. “You smell like lemon. Like…I dunno, something cold and lemony. It’s nice. But do you really think I comment on every single person I smell? I notice everything. And it’s strong. I get it. But please don’t mistake my not mentioning that you smell good enough to eat for some kind of disinterest, because it isn’t. I like you, Yoongi. You just refuse to let me like you.”

“I…”

“I’m supposed to go to a movie with Hoseok tomorrow.” The momentary warmth from that acknowledgment immediately evaporates. “I’m telling you, because I don’t want you to think I’m doing something sneaky or underhanded. I won’t go if you tell me not to. So. Should I go?”

Jimin’s gaze cuts into Yoongi. It coils around his guts and squeezes and suffocates and Yoongi almost kind of enjoys the vice grip. He crumples a napkin in his hand and tries not to crumple himself under that look, and he drops his eyes to the table.

“Go,” he whispers.

They eat in silence.

\+ + + +

 **Hyung**  
1-10, how much do you hate me this time?  
**23:16**

84.  
**23:17**

 **Hyung**  
Fair.  
**23:17**

If you tell me not to go, I won’t go. If you have a crush on him I’ll totally respect that.  
**23:18**

I don’t.  
**23:30**

 **Hyung**  
OK. Are we alright?  
**23:31**

Eh.  
**23:37**

 **Hyung**  
See you Thursday?  
**23:38**

Probably not.  
**23:55**

 **Hyung**  
Okay, Yoongi. Goodnight.  
**23:56**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize Hobi's younger but there's this whole backstory in my head, hence the special names that Namjoon and Hobi are saved as in Yoongi's phone. I may or may not put way too much thought into these things. I'm sorry for any yelling that this chapter causes; I too want to yell.
> 
> You can totally teach cats to sit, by the way. I've done it.


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything got really super serious so...enjoy a marginally more lighthearted chapter. Shout out to [cumulus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cumulus/pseuds/cumulus) for the image of couple's chokers that refused to leave my head.

Decent human beings don’t show up at someone’s house at nine in the morning insisting they shower and get dressed. Decent human beings don’t usher unwilling participants into a car full of people, several of whom are definitely on the ‘ignore’ list, and force them into social interactions. Yoongi concludes that Hoseok is not a decent human being.

He sits with his head resting against the car window, ear bud in one ear while ignoring the knocks rattling against his head. The headphones hadn’t kept people from talking to him on the ride to Lotte World, but at the very least it’s sort of distracting from feeling like shit and wanting to drown Hoseok.

“Get out of the car, Yoongi-yah,” Hoseok says with another knock. Yoongi blinks, staring straight ahead at the headrest in front of him, and continues to ignore. “Min Yoongi. Open the door.”

The locks of Hoseok’s car click open, and Yoongi hurries to lock his door again as Hoseok lets out a grunt of annoyance and a stream of swears that Yoongi can barely make out.

“Fine,” Hoseok says with a final bang of his palm against the window. “Stay in the car all fucking day. I’m not rolling the window down. Good luck breathing.”

“Come on, you can’t leave him in there,” Namjoon’s voice barely registers to Yoongi. He swallows and blinks a few times, determined not to let the stinging in his eyes win out. “Just…leave his window cracked at least?”

“I can stay with him.” This time, it’s Hyojin. “Amusement parks aren’t really my thing anyway.”

“That’s bullshit, you love them,” Hoseok says. “We’re going into the park, and we’re going to have a good time, and everyone’s going to  _fucking_ smile.”

The door locks click again, and Yoongi is jerked out of his seat. He stumbles over his backpack, straps tangled at his feet, and manages to yank himself out of Hoseok’s grip in time to avoid faceplanting. 

His whole body hurts and the sun isn’t making it any better, shining so brightly he’s squinting even behind his sunglasses. He hugs his stomach, frowning and taking slow steps to distance himself from the others. Their enthusiasm for going to the park just makes him even more annoyed at being dragged along. Even worse, Hoseok invited Jimin and Taehyung to join their ragtag group.

“Every single year,” Hoseok says. Yoongi assumes it’s not supposed to be loud enough for him to hear, but it definitely is. “We come every year, first day of spring, because  _he_ wants to, and suddenly he doesn’t.”

“Well it’s been kind of a rough year,” Namjoon says.

“Well that’s why we need to be here,” Hoseok says. “God, I could shake him sometimes.”

Yoongi wishes, albeit fleetingly, that Hoseok would trip on a crack in the pavement.

\+ + + +

“I’m not riding that,” Hoseok insists. “Not today, not ever. Why do you always try and make me ride it?”

“Why are you always such a wuss?” Jeongguk asks.

They stand near the Gyro Drop, and Yoongi stares up at the ride as another group ascends. Normally, it’s his favorite ride in the whole park and he spends half an hour trying to convince Hoseok to get on before giving up and riding with Jeongguk, Seokjin, and Namjoon (and, as of last year, Jia and Hyojin). Normally. This time, he doesn’t say a word, and Jeongguk picks up his persuasive slack.

“I’ll ride,” Jimin says. Yoongi looks to him and finds him smiling his way, and he doesn’t even hesitate to return the look even though it’s the last thing he actually wants to do. “I’ve never been on. It’ll be fun!”

“I’m keeping my feet on the ground,” Hoseok insists.

“Yeah I think I’ll pass this year,” Seokjin says. “Not feeling so great today.”

Seokjin looks as if he’s been fighting off a stomach bug for the better part of a week. His skin is clammy and almost gray, sweat spiking his hair up in sporadic tufts. It’s nothing like the normally impeccably put together Seokjin. His scent, like freshly heated popcorn, overwhelmed the air in the van on the ride to the park enough that they rode with all the windows down after just a few minutes with the excuse of Jimin needing the fresh air to avoid getting carsick.

“You should’ve stayed home,” Yoongi mutters as he watches the ride drop its passengers straight down. “You smell.”

“I do  _not_ smell,” Seokjin, gravely offended, says.

“You smell a little bit,” Hoseok joins in. “It’s kind of distracting.”

A few murmurs of agreement have Seokjin even more annoyed. He dismisses himself from them to go sit on a bench and wait, and Yoongi frowns as Namjoon—then Jia, and, to Yoongi’s irritation, Hyojin—follows. He looks to Jeongguk.

“I’m still going,” Jeongguk shrugs. He elbows Taehyung, who follows it up with a nod.

Standing in line for the drop feels awkward, with Taehyung and Jeongguk entertaining themselves talking about some television show they’re both into and Jimin saying nothing at all. Yoongi tries not to feel like it’s personal, like he’s not interesting enough to talk to, but after about five minutes, it starts to wear on him.

“How was your date?” he asks. It’s absolutely not what he wanted to say, and Jimin looks at him as though it’s absolutely not what he wants to answer.

“It wasn’t a date, and it was fine,” Jimin says. “It was just a movie. Friends go to movies together.”

“But you want to be more than friends, right? You said.”

“I said I  _had_ a crush on him. Had. Past tense.”

“Do you still?”

“I don’t know, Yoongi, but can you explain to me how it’s any of your business?”

Yoongi can’t frown any harder. He kicks at a bit of trash on the ground at his feet. Looking at Jimin some how becomes harder to do than standing so close to him, breathing him in so deeply even with the masker on. He doesn’t know why he’s digging, doesn’t know why it even matters at all other than a perverse desire to say  _I told you so_  to himself.

“It’s not,” he mutters.

“It’s not? You sure?” Jimin asks.

“Yep. Not my business. Whatever, fuck it, I hope you two have fun together.”

“You’re infuriating,” Jimin says with a sigh. “‘Jimin, I like you.’ Just say it.”

“But…I don’t—”

“Min Yoongi, honestly.”

Yoongi starts to dispute, but the way Jimin intertwines their fingers makes him forget about everything else beyond that touch. He smiles, just barely, at the small squeeze Jimin gives, then steps close enough that their arms touch. Goosebumps pop up all over despite the relative warmth of the day.

\+ + + +

By the fourth ride, Yoongi feels like himself again—the Yoongi from years ago. The others still rest on the bench (with a fair amount of strangers casually chatting up Seokjin before being shooed off by Namjoon) as their tinier group takes on the more adventurous rides. The rush of wind against his face, the surge of adrenaline, the way Jimin stays so close, work to make Yoongi whole. Or at least moderately less hollow.

He bounces on his toes as they wait in line for the Gyro Swing, his second-favorite ride, and his hold on Jimin’s hand grows tighter.

“The first time Jeongguk could ride this with me,” he says, “he threw up everywhere and it was hilarious.”

“I only threw up once!” Jeongguk says. “Shut up, you’re barely tall enough to ride.”

“Hey, watch it,” Jimin speaks up. “You can’t insult his height without insulting mine and I don’t want to have to fight you.”

“Fight me, then,” Jeongguk shrugs. He takes a step closer to Jimin, mouth quirked in a smug smirk.

Something passes between them, invisible but palpable, and Yoongi frowns slightly. Jeongguk has at least a head over Jimin and yet Jimin doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated by this younger kid’s posturing.

“I could tell you about the one time Hoseok actually  _did_ ride this with us,” Yoongi says as he edges his way in between Jimin and Jeongguk.

It’s strange, he thinks as he tries to tell the story with as much enthusiasm as he can pretend to have, to see Jeongguk display anything even remotely close to alpha tendencies. Yoongi largely forgets his brother even  _has_ that designation, quiet and unassuming and generally agreeable as Jeongguk is. He makes a note to ask about what the hell just happened once they’re at home and away from everyone. The distraction calms the air enough that Jeongguk’s own pink lemonade scent dies down and they’re too busy laughing about Hoseok panicking to remember any discomfort. Jimin holds Yoongi’s hand for the entire ride.

“Haunted house next!” Jeongguk yells as they approach the others.

They’d gotten snacks at some point, Jia and Namjoon in their obnoxious matching outfits—highwater black pants, suspenders, t-shirt, choker and round sunglasses—sharing a puff of blue cotton candy as Seokjin munches on some nachos.

“Oh no, I hate being scared,” Hyojin shakes her head and tears off a piece of her pretzel to give to Yoongi. He hesitates, watching her glance to his hand in Jimin’s, before accepting it with a quiet thanks. “Go without me.”

“You gotta ride something,” Jeongguk insists.

“Seokjin-sshi, are you going to be okay?” Jimin asks.

Seokjin tears his gaze away from Namjoon and lands on Jimin. “Fine,” he says tersely, and Yoongi finds himself needing to get away from the air that’s just so overwhelmingly  _alpha_.

He starts toward the haunted house under the assumption that the others will catch up, and for the first time all day, he can smell the atmosphere of the park and not Seokjin and his cycle or Jimin being so damned overwhelming. Hoseok was right; being there helped him. He liked the familiarity of the park, the sense of belonging that came with having a tradition to share. If he ignored just how awkward he’d been making things, he even liked pulling Jimin and Taehyung into the fold. Jeongguk certainly seemed to like having Taehyung around.

His smile falters some as petrichor invades his nostrils, only seconds before he feels an arm around his shoulder.

“This was a good idea,” Hoseok says. “A sign, this day falling on my off day. You should thank me.”

“I should punch you in the dick,” Yoongi says, moving forward in line.

Hoseok is undeterred. He lets out a laugh and gives Yoongi’s shoulders a squeeze. “I did you a favor. Do you think I’m so cruel, young man?”

“You’re still younger than me.”

“I invited him for you.” Hoseok ignores Yoongi’s commentary. “Not me. He and I are going to be friends but you’re really clearly gaga over him, so I know when to calm myself down.”

Yoongi tries to figure out the best way to respond, but he can’t. So he doesn’t.

\+ + + +

They scream their way through the haunted house. Launch into each other with all the force of a personal vendetta being settled on bumper cars. Glide down the flume ride. Float on the lake in a somewhat cramped cruise ship. By late afternoon, with all the walking and riding and snacking, most of them want to go home already. Yoongi just gets more excited with every ride. Since Seokjin looks even worse for wear, and Jia complains about her blisters having blisters while  piggybacking on Namjoon, and Jeongguk remembers a pile of homework he has to do, Hoseok makes the executive decision to herd everyone back toward the van.

Except, Yoongi doesn’t want to go. He never wants to go, and once upon a time, the job fell on his parents to convince him that they could just come back the following weekend, or the next month, or literally any time considering the park stays open. But it’s only ever open on the first day of spring once a year, and that makes it special to Yoongi, and he does whatever he can to prolong his time there—up to and including throwing silent, dead weight style tantrums.

With his parents passing on coming to the park with them the last three years, the baton somehow fell to Hoseok to get Yoongi out of the park and on the road home. Yoongi watches Hoseok, careful not to look too sad or desperate despite feeling both things overwhelmingly.

“I’ll stay with him,” Jimin says before Hoseok can start his third attempt at conning Yoongi into going home.

Hoseok stares. “Really?”

“Sure,” Jimin nods. “We’ll take the bus home. It’s okay. I’m not really ready to go either.”

“Okay, you jerks figure it out, she’s slowly strangling me,” Namjoon croaks, adjusting Jia on his back before trudging toward the exit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to ride home with us?” Hoseok asks once the rest of the group has retreated as well. His face screams worried.

“I haven’t even gotten on the Giant Loop yet,” Yoongi says. “And riding with Seokjin when he’s on his thing is really overwhelming.”

“Same,” Jimin says with a firm nod. “We’re fine. I promise I won’t lose him in the crowd.”

Hoseok purses his lips at Jimin’s toothy grin-salute combo, then sighs. “Okay,” he says. “But I want you to text me the second you both make it home. Got it?”

“Yeah, hyung, sure.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Have fun with Jiffy Pop.”

Yoongi and Jimin mirror each other’s waves as Hoseok scoffs his way away from them, and a quiet panic rises in Yoongi’s throat. He tries not to be too nervous about being alone with Jimin away from the cafeteria, but every possible way of ruining things sneaks into his mind the second he starts to think something going wrong is possible. He hugs his arms tighter around himself, as if somehow that might keep his obnoxious thoughts from spilling out if he can just get a literal hold on himself.

“Giant Loop first?” Jimin asks. Yoongi nods, then lets himself be dragged off toward the line. “Don’t clam up on me now, Hedgie. We were doing so well.”

“Sorry,” Yoongi says. “You…make me nervous.”

“I noticed.” Jimin’s laugh is light and sweet and Yoongi finds himself leaning into it. “For a beta, you’ve really got it bad.”

Yoongi prays the flushing sensation in his cheeks isn’t actually translating to redness. “Not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” Jimin says. “It’s cute. I’m not really used to betas falling over me like this. First time for everything though, right?”

“I don’t really want to talk about people falling over you.”

“Why not? You must’ve noticed that I’m cute. Lots of people like me.” Yoongi considers how easy it would be to jump off the top of the Giant Loop to his death. “The important thing here is whether I like lots of people. And I don’t. I like you. Even as prickly as you are. Maybe especially as prickly as you are."

For a few seconds, Yoongi feels Jimin’s lips pressed into his hair. He spends the entire ride on the loop in a stupor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that! A tiny bit more progress! Veeeeeery very tiny. But it totally still counts, right? There is a bit more involving park shenanigans but I didn't want to make this chapter overly long.


	7. seven

When Yoongi’s parents brought them to the park, they had a tradition of riding the carousel as their last adventure of the day. Even when they stopped coming along, their little group always saved the carousel for last. But here, with just Jimin, it seems silly to suggest a thing like that. Sillier still to feel bad winding down their day without riding. It sets off a little anxious corner of his brain, like this whole day would be a wash if he didn’t ride the carousel before leaving.

Lead feet shuffle toward the exit, his eyes glancing back to the carousel now and then as Jimin rambles about how much fun he’d had and how tired he is and how full his stomach feels. It takes Yoongi fifteen more steps before he notices he isn’t engulfed by blueberries and the air’s gone eerily silent.

He stops, turns, and spots Jimin a few feet back.

“What’s wrong?” he asks once he rejoins Jimin.

“ _You_ look like something’s wrong, not me,” Jimin says. “What’s with the frown?”

“I’m not frowning.” Yoongi brings his hand up to his face and feels the ridges in his forehead. He immediately tries to smooth his face out. “Sorry.”

“You still don’t want to go home?” Jimin guesses. “It’s almost closing time.”

“No, it’s stupid,” Yoongi sighs.

“…You haven’t even said what it is.”

“It’s nothing, it’s just usually we ride the stupid fucking carousel before we leave and it’s ridiculous and it doesn’t even matter, let’s just go.”

He reclaims Jimin’s hand and starts forward and is immediately surprised by how much stronger Jimin is—his tugging doesn’t move Jimin even a millimeter.

“Let’s go ride it, then,” Jimin says with a shrug as he pulls Yoongi back again. Yoongi stumbles a little and catches his balance with his hands against Jimin’s chest, then promptly jerks away with a mumbled apology.

Since it’s late, there aren’t very many small children around—the line is filled with clumps of college-age friends, couples at various relationship stages, older kids and their weary parents. He plays a game in his head to try and guess their stories, figure out where they’ve been and where they’re going. It’s something he and Hoseok have done since they were small, and somehow spread to the rest of their friends. The thought of it brings another gentle smile to Yoongi’s face.

“Newlyweds,” Jimin says. When Yoongi turns questioning eyes to him, he continues. “Those two are newlyweds. They’re all over each other, like no one else exists. Look how he smiles at her.”

“What are you doing?” Yoongi asks carefully.

“I dunno, it seemed interesting, guessing stuff about them.” Jimin shrugs, smiles, looks over to Yoongi. “Why?”

Yoongi tries to think of something other than how strange it was for Jimin to blurt something like that out. Like maybe banana ice cream. There’s a pint in the freezer at home and he knows Jeongguk will eat it all before he has a chance to have any. Banana ice cream melts over every other thought. “What am I thinking about right now?”

“How should I know?” Jimin laughs quietly. “Probably something random like…I dunno, banana ice cream.”

“Fuck off,” Yoongi laughs. “Seriously?”

“Am I right?”

“You’re a witch, is what you are.”

Jimin’s smile stretches, his eyes crinkling into puffy little crescents as he laughs. “Okay,  _you_ tell me what  _I’m_ thinking.”

Yoongi finds Jimin making his eyes super wide and leaning in close enough that their noses touch is wholly unnecessary, but he doesn’t move away. He tries hard not to laugh in Jimin’s face, but it gets even harder as Jimin tries to hold back a laugh as well.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says.

“You’re not even trying!”

“Okay, okay, sorry.”

He can’t think. He can’t think about what Jimin is thinking because this is the closest they’ve been to each other’s faces and all that passes through his mind is wanting to kiss him, wanting to close that minuscule gap between their mouths, wanting to put their lips together and make little hums and lick at each other until everything is hot and wet and exhilarating. But it’s not his thoughts, he realizes after a few seconds. It’s Jimin. Jimin wants to kiss him, and he has no idea what to do now.

He laughs some and widens the distance between them, looking toward the giant carousel rather than at Jimin. “I dunno, I have no idea what you’re thinking,” he says. “That kind of thing isn’t for friends, it’s for…y’know. Bonded pairs or whatever.”

“Or pairs that  _should_ be bonded but aren’t.” Jimin’s words come out airy but they weigh on Yoongi like lead. There’s nothing accusatory there, nothing leading, but Yoongi feels something guilt-shaped regardless.

“Our turn,” Yoongi says as he steps forward toward the carousel.

For as long as he can remember, he’s ridden the horse with the green decor and a gold crown on its chest. He barely even has to try to find it, hoisting himself up and strapping himself in place. Jimin mounts the horse beside him, hugging its neck with a quiet laugh that makes Yoongi feel warm and safe and normal. He tries not to stare and focuses on watching the rest of the riders getting settled.

They hardly make half a revolution when Jimin’s hand juts out toward Yoongi. Yoongi stares, waits for Jimin to say something, but eventually it dawns on him that this is Jimin saying something, and that he’s  supposed to answer. Hesitation makes his hand shake as he reaches out in return, offering just an index finger to link even though they’d been holding hands all day. Somehow, now, it feels different. Jimin watches him with the kind of sleepy smile that Yoongi dreams of waking up to, and as soon as he thinks that, he feels seven different levels of embarrassed.

He grips the pole more firmly, closing his eyes to try and steady himself and not pass out from how stiflingly Jimin the air around him is. The carousel music warbles with the steadily-familiar underwater distortion and his heart feels like it may actually explode but he doesn’t want to let Jimin go. 

\+ + + +

“Okay, favorite cake flavor, go!”

They’ve been walking around the west lake of Seokchon Lake Park for nearly an hour, very slow steps because neither of them seems too keen on going home but neither wants to say as much. A game of favorites fills in the brief lull in conversation that came about when Jimin asked about the rest of Yoongi’s family beyond his little brother, and so they’ve learned each other’s favorite music genres (Yoongi prefers hip-hop while Jimin, to no one’s surprise, favors pop hits), television shows (Yoongi admits he doesn’t watch a lot of television and Jimin starts listing a bunch of shows Yoongi doesn’t recognize at all), shapes for whatever reason (they both like circles).

Yoongi, normally not one to oblige such things, has no problem with Jimin’s curiosity, although it strikes him as weird for someone like Jimin to care all that much about someone like him. Especially about something as unimportant as favorite cake flavor—confetti with vanilla buttercream. The darkness provides a nice cover for his blushing when Jimin reveals a fondness for lemon cakes.

The stillness of the park makes for a nice way to wind down after such a busy day, and Yoongi wants desperately to crawl to the subway station and head home. Jimin’s hand in his, their fingers laced together, provides far more incentive to stay. Jimin leads them closer to the edge of the bridge they’ve crossed, stooping down and pulling out his phone.

“Do you think fish sleep?” he asks as he turns on his phone’s flashlight. The water beneath them looks black.

“I’m pretty sure they do something sleep-like,” Yoongi says. “Maybe don’t shine lights in their eyes.”

“Oh, maybe.” Jimin nods, leaves the flashlight on for a second longer before cutting it off. “We should come back here. Y’know, next month. To look at the cherry blossoms.”

“Why?” Yoongi asks. “Haven’t you seen them before?”

From his crouched position, Jimin looking up at Yoongi makes him look incredibly small, incredibly young. Yoongi looks away.

“Okay,” Yoongi nods. “We’ll come back next month to look at trees doing a thing they do every year.”

“You’re not big on nature, are you,” Jimin laughs. Yoongi grunts. “We’ll have fun. It’s pretty. And romantic. You know how romance works, don’t you?”

“Not…really?” Yoongi jumps as Jimin stands so suddenly.

“Min Yoongi, have you never been in a relationship before?”

Yoongi frowns. The answer is no, but he can’t bring himself to say it. He’s never had an interest in relationships; people have had crushes on him, and he’s gone on a few dates, but ultimately his disinterest drives them all away. And besides, who ever wants to stick around such a mess, anyway? He considers himself lucky that Hyojin even bothers with him, helps him out during months when his cycle is particularly persistent. It’s because of that that he doesn’t mind returning the favor for her, but neither of them have any confusion about just what they are to each other. It’s the closest he’s gotten to a relationship in his life, one of only two people total he’s been intimate with.

The lack of an answer doesn’t deter Jimin. He puts his hands against Yoongi’s cheeks, squeezing briefly, then starts to walk toward the stairs. Nature has never come anywhere close to the top of Yoongi’s list of Things That Are Good, but sitting on the steps, staring out over the lake with Jimin’s hand in his and Jimin’s head ducking closer to his shoulder, he starts to think maybe trees aren’t so bad.

They only get ten minutes of quiet sitting time before Yoongi realizes they’re skirting dangerously close to missing the last trains for the night. He hates running, but Jimin has no problem taking off toward the station and he does his best to keep up. He stands still for a moment, looking toward the escalator to his train, then looks at Jimin. Jimin’s face seems just as unsure.

“See you later, then?” Jimin says.

“Right. Later.”

Neither of them move.

“I’ll text you,” Yoongi adds.

“Right! Yeah. Text me when you get home,” Jimin tells him.

Yoongi’s brain floods with  _kiss him kiss him kiss him_  and he can’t tell if it’s Jimin again or his own thoughts this time. He takes a step toward his line, then another, before turning away from Jimin and walking away.

He makes it six whole steps.

\+ + + +

Yoongi tries to remember the last time anyone other than Jeongguk, Namjoon or Hoseok slept in his bed and realizes it’s never happened. He wants to feel embarrassed about bringing Jimin into this mess, into his somewhat crowded, perpetually messy room, but Jimin doesn’t seem to mind even a little bit. He lies on Yoongi’s bed, Licorice Killer on his chest, laughing and taking pictures of the kitten attacking his hand. It’s too familiar. It makes Yoongi feel uncomfortable and comfortable and he hasn’t a clue how to react.

He sits the soda he’d fetched for Jimin on his nightstand, then hovers near the side of the bed to try and decide if he wants to get in. Jimin slides over without a word.

“Do you want to…I dunno, watch a movie?” Yoongi asks as he gets into his bed. “I could turn on my laptop…Or…I have cards.” Entertaining seems strange, especially when he has no idea what Jimin likes to do. At least with Namjoon and Hoseok, he’s at liberty to ignore them and let them fend for themselves; they aren’t even guests in his house by this point, just additional members who are only around part-time.

“I’m fine just laying here,” Jimin says as he stifles a yawn. “This cat is really cute.”

“Yeah, she’s cool,” Yoongi nods. “She likes my brother more but that’s okay.” As if to do nothing more than prove Yoongi wrong, Licorice Killer stops biting at Jimin and meows her way across toward Yoongi instead. He smiles, reaching to pet her head. “I bought her a really cool little spiked collar but she’s still too small for it. She got lost in the laundry hamper the other day. Jeongguk thought he killed her.”

“Aww, tiny little Killer,” Jimin laughs.

Yoongi freezes as Jimin turns onto his side, scoots closer, and suddenly they’re touching and Jimin’s head is against his chest and it’s almost too much to handle.

“Maybe Tae and I could handle a cat,” Jimin says. “If we make a feeding chart.”

“Maybe,” Yoongi agrees. His hand hovers over Jimin’s side before he decides to just let it rest there. He isn’t fully prepared for the happy little sigh that comes out of Jimin from his touch. “What about you?”

“…What about me?”

“Have you ever…I mean, with relationships, have…” It’s silly the way the words won’t come out. Yoongi sighs in annoyance at himself.

“Have I had relationships before?” Jimin says. “No. But it’s fun to watch you look so flustered about it.”

“You’re an asshole,” Yoongi mutters, zero bite behind the words. It happens without much thought behind it, his hand starting to rub against Yoongi’s side. “So then how do you know about romance?”

“I watch a lot of movies.” Jimin barely sounds awake, his phone drooped against Yoongi’s chest rather than propped up for more kitten photos. “Lots and lots of movies and I dream.”

“About romance? What kind of dreams?” Yoongi pauses but all he hears in response is a light snore. “Jimin?”

“Hn?”

“…Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a witty comment for this chapter. It's honestly just full of fluffy feelings because really, Yoongi needs it. Don't get too comfortable, though. We're still in full-tilt angst territory.


	8. eight

There are people who wake up in the mornings bright-eyed and ready to take on the day with a smile. They don’t hit their snooze button, they take their coffee with two lumps of sugar, they eat well-balanced breakfasts. Yoongi is not that person. Yoongi is a snooze-abuser. Yoongi spends twenty minutes lying in bed groaning. Yoongi barely stays awake in the shower. Yoongi considers a handful of Fruity Pebbles an appropriate breakfast. So it’s out of character that he’s awake at nine-thirty in the morning, sitting up in his bed and staring at Jimin curled up beside him.

Jimin looks like he’d been given bad news in his sleep and is mulling it over. His thick lips turn down just so, brow furrowed with worry. Yoongi’s hand reaches to brush a wisp of hair out of Jimin’s face, but he stops himself just before actually touching him. It’s too intimate. Too comfortable. He sighs, then gets out of the bed and turns to tuck Jimin in to make up for the loss of body heat. Jimin’s whining makes it a little harder to walk off, but he doesn’t want to greet this boy that he’s—got a crush on? In love with? He doesn’t even know and that makes the idea of greeting him with morning breath that much worse.

He doesn’t know if Jimin is a heavy sleeper or not, so he skips the shower for now and heads out of his room toward the kitchen with a quiet bargain to whatever deity is listening—if his mother isn’t in the kitchen, he’ll actually go to church or something once in a while. And he’s pleased to see that it worked, but that joy is quickly overtaken by confusion. There’s someone in his kitchen that isn’t Jeongguk—a touch too short, too-light hair, hanging out in the kitchen in the first place. Jeongguk enters the kitchen solely for the retrieval of drinks and badgering their mother about when food will be ready. But this non-Jeongguk seems to be doing something with his hands in front of the counter.

Yoongi approaches with caution, clears his throat when he gets a few feet back. The person turns, and Yoongi stares with wide eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” he asks.

“Uh…your brother?” Taehyung still sounds half-asleep. His voice rumbles the air, deep and growly, and his hair could be textbook bedhead. He smells of cherry tarts and something else. Something just out of the reach of familiarity so early in the morning, but he’s sure it’ll come to him at some point when it’s too late to say anything to Taehyung about it.

Yoongi’s glaring is short-lived. Jeongguk enters the kitchen with a gasp, then tries to play it off with an embarrassed laugh.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk says as he pats Yoongi’s shoulder on the way to the fridge. “Taehyung came over for a while to play video games…I guess we fell asleep. He slept on the floor.”

“Didn’t ask, but okay,” Yoongi says.

Jeongguk, when faced with a situation in which he’s certain he’s been caught doing something he ought not, winds up overexplaining with what amounts to the worst excuses any one human can possibly come up with. Both Yoongi and Taehyung send looks of disbelief Jeongguk’s way, but he chooses not to look at either of them, taking his water bottle and shuffling to the other side of the kitchen to sit at the island.

Taehyung stops chopping up red bell peppers and uses the knife to slide the pieces from the cutting board into a bowl, and Yoongi glances in to see bits of green pepper, onions, spinach and mushrooms. On the stove, bacon pops angrily and Taehyung hardly exerts any extra stretch to his arm to jab at the pieces with a fork to turn them over.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi asks.

“Contemplating the meaning of life and the inherent classism that develops through capitalism,” Taehyung says. “And omelets.”

“I told him you like omelets,” Jeongguk speaks up. He stares back at his water as Yoongi glares again.

“You are…fuckin’ weird.” Yoongi gives Taehyung one last confused look before opening the fridge to get his own bottle of water. “We don’t have enough eggs f—”

“Boom. Done.” Taehyung points, and Yoongi spots a few of cartons of eggs sitting next to some blocks of cheese.

“Okay…well. Shit.” Yoongi rubs the back of his neck. His plans to make breakfast for Jimin in some kind of attempt to impress him slowly unravel, but he’s almost kind of grateful considering he’s a really fucking terrible cook. He sighs, unscrews the cap on his water, takes a swig. “Guess you’ve got it covered.”

“Jeonggukkie, can you cut up the bacon?” Taehyung says. Jeongguk comes closer again, grabbing the kitchen shears to start cutting the bacon into chunks and ignoring his brother staring at him with mouth agape.

Yoongi shakes his head eventually, too weirded out by the whole situation to say more, and turns to go back toward his room. He startles for the second time that morning spotting Jimin standing dazed in the hallway. Half of Jimin’s hair rests flat against his head, slicked in place by sweat, while the rest feathers upwards. He barely has his eyes open and creases from sleeping so heavily against Yoongi mark his cheeks. He looks ridiculous, and Yoongi wants to keep looking at him forever.

He’s distracted from the cuteness above Jimin’s waist once he notices that at some point, Jimin apparently lost his pants. He stands there in the same gray shirt from the previous day, but with bright red boxer briefs peeking out underneath. It’s the first time Yoongi really pays attention to Jimin’s legs—pale and strong and _fuck_ his thighs look as if they could kill a man with a squeeze and he has a hard time not imagining himself between them.

Something about the mischief lacing Jimin’s lazy, sleepy smile—the same he’d wished to see on the carousel—makes Yoongi wonder if Jimin picked up on that thought.

“You weren’t there,” Jimin speaks finally, voice coarse and plaintive. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

Yoongi, unable to think of any words that don’t have some variation of _fuck_ attached, simply holds out his water bottle to Jimin.

“Should I go?” Jimin asks after taking a drink. “Will your parents care—”

“It’s better to wake up fully first,” Yoongi says. “Traveling while tired is dangerous.”  
It’s the closest Yoongi can bring himself to saying _stay_.

\+ + + +

If Jimin is at all surprised to see Taehyung, he doesn’t show it. Yoongi feels like he’s in some alternate dimension, some place where it’s just him and Jeongguk and their…whatever Jimin and Taehyung were to them. They smile and laugh through omelets (which Yoongi refuses to admit tastes delicious), chatting with each other about everything they’d done the day before, making plans for the cherry blossom festival at Jimin’s insistence, sharing embarrassing stories. For a whole hour, Yoongi forgets he’s ever been sad in his life. Jimin sits too close to him on the couch and their bare legs touching makes him feel like maybe his cycle’s jumpstarted, but he reminds himself he still has another two weeks for that. He thinks absently about Namjoon and his teasing and constantly reminding Yoongi that couples exist that fuck outside of their cycles, just for fun, and that Yoongi ought to try it. He thinks maybe he’d like to try it with Jimin.

It scares him a little, that thought. He’d made it twenty-three years without any inkling of caring about getting laid when hormones don’t surge. To have Jimin so close and smelling so good and looking so delectable shakes something up in him that he’s not really sure he wants jostled. And when Jimin puts a hand on his thigh absently while in the middle of telling Jeongguk a story about him and Taehyung and a failed trip to Busan, his mind surges with flashes of memories that hadn’t been made yet—kissing with such intensity that their lips swell, Jimin’s teeth scraping over his clavicle, fingers digging into his hips, being pinned between Jimin and a wall and fucked mercilessly. It’s so much, so vivid, that he casually slides Jimin’s hand away to take a break from touching him.

“So that’s how we got banned from Jagalchi Market that one time,” Jimin says.

“That octopus had it coming and it’s not my fault geoduck looks like that,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi really, really regrets missing the bulk of that story.

\+ + + +

“So…are we gonna talk about you sneaking boys into your room or am I pretending not to realize?”

Yoongi glances to his brother, hands him a wet plate to stick into the dishwasher, and Jeongguk starts to blush. They’d been operating this way—one rinsing dishes, the other loading the dishwasher—for as long as Yoongi can remember, using it as time to have semi-serious talks that they can’t quite seem to get a hang of any other time. It’s easier for them both not to have to look at each other when exposing the rawest parts of themselves.

“What about _you_?” Jeongguk’s defenses immediately raise and if Yoongi didn’t know any better, he’d think maybe his brother was trying to exert some kind of alpha intimidation tactics. He _really_ had to ask what was up with him lately. “You had a boy over too.”

“Right but I’m fucking queer,” Yoongi says. “You’re straight. That’s how it’s always been. You’re the good kid who won’t potentially bring dishonor on our cow or whatever if I manage to fall in love with someone with a cock and not someone with a vag.”

Another plate passes between them, but Jeongguk doesn’t answer. Two more plates. Then the giant pot used for that night’s stew. And still silence from Jeongguk.

Yoongi sighs. “Look, I’m obviously the last fucker that’s gonna judge you,” he says. “If you like him, whatever. I don’t care, kid. I just thought I’d ask if this was a friend thing or what.”

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk says so softly Yoongi almost misses it with the steady pulsing of water from the spray nozzle in his hand. “I don’t know, I don’t get it. He’s…a guy. But I like him, but do I _like_ him? What the fuck am I doing, hyung?”

“I got zero authority to tell you that, kid,” Yoongi shakes his head. “But if you think you’re on the right path doing it, then keep it up. He seems okay. Bit weird, but so are you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Jeongguk laughs. “I don’t know. It’s weird and confusing and I get around him and I just want to…I dunno. Is it stupid that I feel like I need to protect him? That’s stupid, god, sorry.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” Yoongi says. “So…is that what the deal is with the whole alpha posturing bullshit? Because you’ve literally never done that before.”

“I don’t know! Ugh.” Jeongguk drags his hands down his face and leans forward to rest his head against the counter. “Fuck, I don’t know. I feel like I’m going crazy. He makes me feel things. I don’t like feeling things.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Yoongi scoffs. “Look.” He puts the sponge down and turns to face Jeongguk. It’s a bit of a risk, breaking their whole ‘don’t look at each other’ long-term arrangement, but he figures the poor kid needs a little more reassurance than mumbling in his general direction. “I like Jimin. Like… _like_ him. And you’re the first person I’ve said that to. I’ve never even said it to myself. So…I get it. Shit’s fucking terrifying. But…I need you to try, okay? Don’t be me. Never be me; you’re better than that.”

Jeongguk sighs, stands up straight again. He watches Yoongi for a moment and Yoongi sees every bit of worry within his brother’s eyes. He starts to say more but Jeongguk steps closer and engulfs him in a hug. Yoongi grunts slightly, keeping his soapy hands away from Jeongguk and tensing up at the touching. He hates that he can’t just relax. He used to be able to take hugs just fine.

“You’re better than you realize, hyung,” Jeongguk mumbles against Yoongi’s hair. “You’re still here.”


	9. nine

Buongiorno caters to a sect of people who exist on the polar opposite of the humanity spectrum from Yoongi and most of his friends. It’s college kids and hipsters and food bloggers taking a zillion pictures of a single crepe, and Yoongi hates it in the deep pits of his soul. But sometimes Namjoon works too much, and sometimes the only way to see him is to go in and grab a table. Yoongi desperately needs to see him. And so he sits, and he waits at a table covered with a dull brown cloth, and he makes formations out of sugar packets as he waits, sipping the water brought to him.

He isn’t in Namjoon’s section, he’s pretty sure; he can see Namjoon, all tall and lavender-haired and smiling his really obscenely fake grin, and he isn’t coming anywhere close. But Seokjin is. Seokjin looks startled to see him, and he brings a hand up to the front of his black button-down shirt emblazoned with the tiny sunrise logo of the restaurant.

“What’s wrong?” Seokjin asks before even doing the standard Buongiorno greeting. He frumples his well-groomed brows. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Yoongi says. “I was just hoping to talk to Namjoon.”

“Oh.” Seokjin sighs in relief, blushing a little, then double-checks that Yoongi wants his usual order—ham and cheese omelet, small stack of pancakes, sausage not bacon.

They aren’t close. For two months, Seokjin apparently thought Yoongi flat-out hated him. But he didn’t, still doesn’t. He just isn’t sure how to act around Seokjin, and so the quiet takes over. He gets why Namjoon is enamored; Seokjin has the kind of face that makes good people sin if it meant the privilege of seeing it daily. He has tons of admirers, a whole pool of sycophants who like every photo, reblog every offhand remark, in the hopes that maybe Seokjin might notice them. He doesn’t, not usually. In the quiet, Yoongi watches the way Seokjin watches Namjoon instead.

He’s halfway through rearranging his sugar packet trail into a heart when Namjoon sidles up to his table.

“Why are you here?” Namjoon asks. He reaches to take a sip of Yoongi’s water. “Who needs an ass-kicking now?”

“Nobody,” Yoongi says. “I just thought we could talk.”

“…I’m at work.”

“Yeah I know that, fuckass, I’m talking about during a break. Or when your shift ends. When is that?”

“Literally just got here, man,” Namjoon sighs. “So not until seven.”

“Then I’ll just stay here until your break,” Yoongi decides. “Because I really need to talk to you.”

Namjoon never worries, not in the way Hoseok worries, and not in the way Seokjin’s learned to worry. Namjoon lets Yoongi be without an overabundance of questions about whether or not he’s okay. Namjoon lets sadnesses lay as they are and simply waits for Yoongi on the other side. But the questions always bubble just below the surface, forcibly tamped down, and Yoongi watches Namjoon struggle with whether or not to push.

“That’ll be around two or three,” Namjoon says. “I’ll see about popping over when the brunch rush leaves.”

“The brunch rush is constant; that’s all you serve here,” Yoongi jokes. Namjoon makes a strangled fake laugh, screwing up his face in exaggeration before pushing Yoongi’s head to the side and walking off to attend to his tables.

It’s another ten minutes before Seokjin brings food out. He passes by Namjoon on the way, the two of them doing an awkward dance around each other and avoiding looking at one another. Seokjin walks up blushing again, dipping some to put the plates on the table without spilling anything. “Alrighty, Yoongi-yah, do you need anything?” he asks while producing a spare container of Yoongi’s perpetual favorite blueberry maple syrup without having to be asked.

“No, thanks,” Yoongi says. It’s dismissive, and he realizes it sounds a little rude when Seokjin’s mouth turns down. “Um. Thank you, seriously.”

“You’re welcome,” Seokjin says. He hovers a little longer. “So…Okay, it’s none of my business at all, but—” Yoongi sighs and braces himself. “You’re eating, right?”

“…What?” Yoongi and Seokjin exchange somewhat confused looks. He’d prepared himself for more questions about Jimin. Or about the hospital. Or about the accident…well, the on-purpose.

“I just. Sorry, I know it’s not my place,” Seokjin says again hurriedly. “It’s just, Jia was telling Namjoon that she was a bit worried. You bring her lunch but you barely eat—”

“Why were you with Jia and Oonie?” Yoongi’s confusion deepens.

“—and I just really am worried. You’ve lost a good ten pounds and you’re small to begin with and I just. I know that you’re…sad…but I just hope that you’re eating properly. I could freeze some meals for you, if it’s a lack of motivation. Just reheat and eat.”

It makes perfect sense, Seokjin worrying over his eating habits. Seokjin discussing said habits with Jia and Namjoon, slightly less sense, but Yoongi chuckles anyway.

“I’m eating,” Yoongi says. “It’s just…It’s hard to eat around Jimin.”

“Oh.” A pause, then a relieved smile on Seokjin’s pretty face. “Oh, good. Again, not my business, we’re not even friends—”

“We’re friends,” Yoongi says, shrugging.

“…Really?” A quick tilt of Yoongi’s chin has Seokjin grinning again. “Okay. Friends. Then as your friend, you should let me cook for you. Really, it’s no burden at all. I like cooking.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Yoongi nods. “Do what you want, I guess.”

“Great. Listen, I’m sorry about being a little off at the park. I probably should’ve stayed home.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi says. “You seem better now anyw—”

He stops. Stares at Seokjin. Wheels start to turn and a light bulb flickers faintly before glowing bright.

“Shit. Did you finally fuck Namjmmph!”

“What the hell, Yoongi!” Seokjin hisses, hand firmly clamped over Yoongi’s mouth. “Shh!”

“Mm!”

“If I move my hand you swear not to say that again?” Yoongi nods, and Seokjin takes his hand away.

“You fucked Namjoon.”

“Unbelievable.”

\+ + + +

It takes forty minutes to get a mediocre explanation out of Seokjin between his evasion of the topic and his limited time between checking on other tables. Namjoon had worried about leaving Seokjin alone in his apartment in his condition, and Jia refused to leave Namjoon behind. Some details still went unfilled but the general outline made Yoongi pretty goddamn sure Seokjin fucked them both. Part of him wants to be grossed out, but if it meant not having to deal with sweaty, crabby Seokjin every month, then whatever, really.

He thinks momentarily about how the dynamics of a threesome would work, which just brings thoughts of Jimin and Hyojin to the forefront, and he shakes the thought away immediately. Almost immediately.

Namjoon huffs into a seat at ten minutes past two, and he looks six shades of over everything. “You know that last table tipped me five hundred won?” he says. “The fucking gall. I should’ve thrown it back in their faces. Ungrateful shits.”

“Maybe you just really sucked,” Yoongi deadpans.

Namjoon smacks his head. “That’s no way to talk to your hyung.”

“Seriously, why don’t you and Hoseok get that I’m oldest?”

“And as your hyung, I demand answers about why you’re here.” Namjoon slides Yoongi’s plate of impossibly cold pancakes toward himself and shovels a huge mouthful into his face with a hum.

“Did you have sex with Seokjinnie?” The question makes Namjoon choke. “Was Jia there? Does she know?”

Namjoon holds up a finger, trying to calm himself down enough to talk. He swallows roughly, gulps down some water, clears his throat a few times while wiping away tears. “Fuck, Yoongi, what the hell,” he says, voice scratched and raw.

“Did you?”

“I don’t think that line of conversation is even remotely appropriate—”

“You made me tell you the strap-on story while sitting at this very table,” Yoongi says. “So, yeah, it’s appropriate. Yes or no?” Namjoon does nothing more than stare for a moment before looking down, sipping more water. Yoongi, if he didn’t know any better, almost thinks he sees a hint of embarrassment. “I’m taking that as yes. Jesus, Oonie, you know you have a girlfriend right? A girlfriend you love? You said you were going to marry her.”

“Was her idea,” Namjoon mutters into the water glass.

“Then you should _definitely_ marry her.”

“You didn’t come to talk about this,” Namjoon says. “What’s going on?”

“Do you know what Jia’s thinking?” Yoongi asks.

“Yoongi, I just said—”

“This isn’t about your freaky-ass extracurricular activities, Namjoon,” Yoongi cuts in. “I just need to know. With Jia, can you tell what she’s thinking? I mean…without asking? Without her saying anything? Like…y’know.”

“Oh.” Namjoon rubs his chin. “At first, no, not really. But…I dunno, after maybe six months or so, we sort of started…syncing up, I guess. Like I’d think I want to watch a certain movie and she’d come over with the DVD without me saying anything. Or…sometimes now if I get close enough, if we’re touching, it’s like this crazy trippy convergence.”

“What about Seokjin?”

“Yes,” Namjoon says, though it’s quiet, almost guilty.

“Jimin spent the night with me last night.” Yoongi doesn’t look up from his sugar packet tower but knows Namjoon’s eyes have doubled. “Nothing happened. But he knows what I’m thinking and I…I could tell what _he’s_ thinking, and that’s not supposed to happen, right? Not like this. Not so immediate.”

“I’ve read it happening,” Namjoon says. “Actual case studies, not fiction. Insta-bond’s possible. Maybe that’s what’s up with your fainting.”

“But I don’t want that.”

“You don’t want it or you don’t think you should have it?”

Yoongi knocks his sugar packet tower over with a sweep of his hand. “Your break’s over.”

\+ + + +

It’s raining when Yoongi makes his way back his house. The television is too loud again and he sighs. “You left the door unlocked,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over some absurd variety show’s laugh track. He shakes raindrops from his hair as he shrugs out of his jacket, glancing toward the empty-looking living room. “Mom?”

A hand raises from the sofa. “I’m here,” she says.

Everything in him says to just go to his room, close the door, cuddle the cat and ignore whatever is wrong now. Instead, he sighs and walks into the living room. It feels foreign to him, the way a fair chunk of the house does; his path leads from front door to bedroom with occasional detours into the kitchen or Jeongguk’s room, rarely anywhere else. So he sits on the coffee table in front of the sofa as if he’s worried about breaking something.

Mrs. Min has eye bags. Her face bears lines that people see and assume mean she’s had a hard life. She’s small and frail and tired-looking and Yoongi can’t stand to look at her curled up in front of him.

“How was your day?” she asks.

“Was fine.”

Neither of them sound invested in the conversation.

“Are you hungry? I can make you lunch.” She sits up, groaning as though every bone aches.

“I ate with Namjoon,” Yoongi says. “Did you go to work?”

“I took the day off,” she says. He finally brings his eyes to meet hers. “I’m fine. Just tired. I felt sick so I called in. I’m going tomorrow.” She stands and stretches. “Oh, no, tomorrow I’m taking you to the doctor, aren’t I. Well I’ll go the next day.”

“I’ll take myself.” Somehow, the lines in her face seem to deepen. “I’m not going to skip out. I can get myself there, it’s fine. Do you want Dr. Kim to call you when I get there? Video chat so you can see I’m actually in the office?”

“…Yes.”

Yoongi bites at the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something overly rude. “Okay,” he nods. “Done. Go to work tomorrow.”

“Done,” she nods. She starts toward the kitchen but doesn’t get beyond the couch. “Yoongi…We liked each other at some point, right? We were friends?”

“No,” Yoongi shakes his head. “We’ve never been friends. But…I guess we got along.”

“How much longer are you going to be mad at me?” When she turns to face him again, he does what he can to ignore the glistening twin tracks of tears on her face. 

“I dunno.”

“You know that I did what I had to, don’t you?” she asks. “I was scared for you. You scare me sometimes and I didn’t—I didn’t want to lose you.”

Yoongi grunts. He stands from the table and skirts past her toward his room. “ _I’m_ not the one that should’ve been locked up in a crazy house, y’know,” he mutters. He doesn’t turn back to see the heartbreak on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Bazooka said triad and I could not get the idea out of my head. They're a clump now.


	10. ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well we've reached the first chapter in which I need to throw up a quick warning! There's some very very brief talk about Yoongi's suicide attempt in this chapter, and if that's a thing that's a sensitive topic to you (totally understand!) then you can safely skip the first section and I'll be more than happy to summarize what you missed if you don't think you're up to reading such a thing.

Yoongi considers breaking his promise. It would be relatively easy to just turn and leave and maybe start a new life in a different city somewhere. One where he doesn’t speak the language and doesn’t have to be bothered and can live in anonymity forever. But he thinks how much he would miss Jeongguk, and Licorice Killer, and Jimin, and maybe even Namjoon. So he takes a deep breath and opens the door to Dr. Kim’s practice waiting area ten minutes before his session is due to begin.

The receptionist—a smiley young man with an adorable nose and dark blond hair—tries to joke around, but Yoongi pays little mind to the attempt at small talk. He sits in one of the cushy chairs, grabbing a magazine, and starts to absently flip through. The receptionist takes the hint and goes back to chatting up another psychiatrist.

Dr. Kim’s office feels more like a children’s pediatric office than how Yoongi thought a shrink’s space should look. Stark white shelves house a mix of comic figurines and books and a few picture frames with people smiling so widely they look like stock images and not actual people. The plush black sofa has several stuffed animals in one corner, and Yoongi frowns as a green hippo flops against his ass when he sits. He nudges it back into place.

Seconds later, the door opens and a short, classically handsome guy in a heather gray sweater, darker gray pants and round tortoiseshell glasses steps in, folder in hand. He spots Yoongi and smiles; Yoongi doesn’t smile back.

“Min Yoongi?” Yoongi nods once. “Great! I’m Dr. Kim. You can call me that, or you can call me Junmyeon, whatever you’re comfortable with.” Dr. Kim steps over and holds out his hand, then shakes Yoongi’s briefly. “Nice to meet you. I’d say have a seat but you’re already sitting!”

Dr. Kim chuckles and walks toward his ink black desk. He plops the folder down on top before bouncing into his leather high-backed chair. Yoongi already hates this, hates even more that Dr. Kim’s daisies and fresh laundry scent lingers in the air, even with the masker that Yoongi spots on him. It’s nauseatingly clean and happy and friendly and it makes it really hard to hate him on sight.

“Alrighty, so, according to these fancy papers, you were admitted to Trailwinds…December 16th,” Dr. Kim says as he adjusts his glasses while reading. “Following an attempted s—”

“I didn’t,” Yoongi says. “That’s not—I didn’t. It was an accident, I was just tired.”

“Okay,” Dr. Kim nods. “Well, do you want to tell me why you were so tired?” Yoongi shrugs. “Alright. That’s okay, we don’t have to talk about that right now. Why don’t you tell me how you’ve been doing since your release?”

“Fine.”

“Fine-fine or fine you’d rather set yourself on fire in this office than tell me you’re not fine fine?”

“Does it matter?” Yoongi asks. “You get paid regardless, don’t you?”

“I do but taking money for nothing makes me feel dirty.”

Dr. Kim laughs at himself again, and Yoongi rolls his eyes. He focuses instead on a photograph beside a little Totoro figurine—Dr. Kim and a younger boy, smiling with Mickey Mouse ears and holding up peace signs.

“Is that your son?” Yoongi asks before he can force himself not to ask.

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes it is.” Dr. Kim smiles with a kind of pride that Yoongi envies. He’s positive no one has ever smiled about him that way. “Sehun. He’s three. That was his choice for his first day alone. Well, I mean. He’s a twin. So usually we take them out together. But it’s important they get individual time, too.”

“Hm.” Yoongi searches the other frames, stares at a photo of the twins, another of two young boys, Dr. Kim, and another man. “Where’s their mom?”

“Not in the picture,” Dr. Kim says before laughing again. “Sorry. We’re divorced. I have a partner.”

“You’re gay?”

“I’m open,” Dr. Kim corrects. “Is that going to be a problem? I can refer you to a different—”

“No, it’s fine,” Yoongi says. “I’m…open…too, I guess.” He pauses. “You’re an alpha?”

“I am.”

“What about your partner?”

“Also an alpha.”

Yoongi doesn’t mean to laugh, but the statement catches him so off-guard he can’t quite help himself. He quiets himself down, looking down at his untied Converse, then leans to tighten the laces. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Um. How does…How the fuck does that work? No offense. I just never really…”

“You know, the fact that you react more to my being in a relationship with another alpha than to my being in a relationship with another man says a lot about how far our society still has to go,” Dr. Kim says with a smirk. “It works the same way as any other relationship. We take care of each other. We support one another. Sometimes we even kind of love each other.”

“That’s nice but I mean like…with the…Don’t you fight a lot?”

“No,” Dr. Kim shakes his head. “I think there are a lot of misconceptions about alpha behavior, what constitutes a good alpha, how alphas are supposed to behave—both with each other and with others. It’s fairly easy to control any possible misunderstandings, remain pretty calm and collected, as long as we’re both taking our suppressants properly. Without, sometimes there are flare-ups, but honestly, what couple doesn’t fight?” He smiles, and Yoongi lets his mind wander to very dark, very dirty places with his psychiatrist and the man from his photos. “But this is supposed to be about you, not me.”

“How am I supposed to tell you about me when I don’t know about you?” Yoongi asks. “Doesn’t really seem fair.”

“Okay, so what else should I tell you?”

Dr. Kim leans back in his chair and it creaks gently. Yoongi finds himself thinking of a million possible questions, but they all wind up seeming fairly stupid. Instead, he gives a lazy shrug, slumping on the sofa and picking up the green hippo to sit it on his lap.

“Well, in that case. Let’s talk about your meds. You’re taking the fifty milligram version of Astaria as your suppressant and five hundred milligrams of Tranquoril as an SSRI, is that correct?” Dr. Kim looks momentarily confused, but his smile returns when he lifts his gaze from the chart to Yoongi. Yoongi nods. “How are you feeling with that?”

“Shitty,” Yoongi says. “Should I be feeling shitty? Because I feel pretty fucking shitty.”

“…Shitty isn’t optimal, no,” Dr. Kim says. “Your psychiatrist in Trailwinds started you on this on…March 8th? So it’s been about three weeks, has it not helped at all?”

“Well I’m still alive, is that good enough?”

“No. No, it’s not.” Dr. Kim heaves a sigh, clicks his pen and starts to write. “With Tranquoril, sudden stopping is ill-advised due to adverse effects, so we’re not going to stop you completely right now. But what we are going to do is gradually lower your dose, which…I have to admit, I didn’t expect to be so high to begin with. That may be contributing to the shitty feeling. We’ll step you down to 450 for about a month, then 400, 350, so on, until we either find a place in that range where you feel good or we take you off it completely and try a different pill. Okay?” Yoongi nods again. “Okay, great. Look at that, we actually accomplished something the very first meeting! Good job, us.”

\+ + + +

“And then he said, ‘Good job, us,’” Yoongi repeats in a voice that isn’t even a little bit similar to Dr. Kim’s. Namjoon howls anyway, nearly spitting out his ramen as he laughs. “God, he’s a weirdo.”

“But you went and you stayed the whole session and you didn’t cuss the guy out so I’m proud of you,” Namjoon says. He gives Yoongi a few hard whacks on the back. “What’d your mom have to say?”

Yoongi shrugs, jabs at his ramen. Namjoon lets the question die.

\+ + + +

_I miss you._

Yoongi types, then deletes, the phrase six times before sighing and sitting his phone against his stomach. He hadn’t heard from Jimin since the morning after their sleepover and it makes his skin itch. It’s stupid. Missing someone after only three days is stupid and he’s stupid for missing him but the itching won’t stop and—

**Muffins**  
Are you busy tonight? Tae’s kids are putting on a play. You can be my date!  
 **15:32**

What time?  
 **15:32**

\+ + + +

It’s wrong, Yoongi is dead certain, to be sitting in the audience beside his brother, waiting for a preschool play to start and wanting nothing more than to slip into Jimin’s lap and ride him until they’re both screaming. It’s wrong, and he’s going to hell, and he can barely swallow the saliva building up in his mouth at the thought. His thought. Jimin’s thought? He doesn’t know or care. Jimin gives his hand a small squeeze and he takes a shuddery breath in.

“They’re really very cute,” Jimin whispers. He leans in too close and he smells so warm and Yoongi considers whether or not anyone would even see them, considering they’re sitting in the back of the auditorium to let parents and their camcorders sit closer. “I came into his class last week and I got to see their little flower hats.”

“That sounds adorable,” Yoongi mutters. He doesn’t care about flower hats, or adorable toddlers, but Jimin cares and he tries to calm himself down.  
It makes no sense, being so worked up near Jimin when it hasn’t even been two weeks since his last cycle, since meeting Jimin. He sighs and crosses his legs and furrows his brow to try and focus as the lights go from dim to off. That focus is immediately broken when Jimin leans in again.

“Do you think maybe you’d want to come back to my place?” he asks. “When this is over, I mean. I liked waking up with you…”

“What? No. Yes, absolutely,” Yoongi says. “After this? We could go now.”

Jimin’s laughter puffs against Yoongi’s skin and makes him shiver. “No, I want to see the routine Tae did for his class. I think they’re going in age order, his kids are the four-year-olds so they should be near the end.”

Yoongi hates that he can hear himself whine even with the swell of piano filtering through the sound system.

It isn’t as torturous as he thought it might be. The kids are cute, the first group filled with crying puppy-toddlers who are clearly just ready for bed. The parents make all sorts of sympathetic noises, some getting up to gather their poor kids, and Yoongi does little more than stare at how happily Jimin watches the stage.

Four classrooms later, Jimin starts to smack Yoongi’s thigh with vigor, sitting up straighter. “Look look, there he is!” he says in a hushed yell, and there he is, just at the edge of the stage, hands shooing kids out and mouth moving in what Yoongi assumes are words of encouragement.

The kids don’t act as nervous on the stage as the younger classes had, taking to their positions with ease and starting in on a song about spring and gardens and rain showers and it’s so painfully cute that Yoongi’s teeth ache. He glances to Jeongguk, watching how intensely his brother stares at the stage, then looks to Jimin to see the same mirrored on his face. Taehyung, he realizes, is going to wind up being a pretty huge chunk of his life.

Jimin takes a few pictures with his phone, then taps Yoongi’s leg and stands. Yoongi looks confused for a moment before getting up as well, pulling Jeongguk along with him. Jimin leads them to the hallway, to a door that eventually opens and little excited flowers come filing out, Taehyung rather loudly commanding them to head back to their classroom. He stops once he notices his tiny fan club, then smiles. Yoongi tries not to feel a little irritated that this kid seems to only have eyes fro Jeongguk.

“Good job, you guys!” Jimin says to the kids, who thank him and scuttle toward their classroom with another teacher. “And good job, Taehyung!”

Taehyung grunts some as Jimin moves closer and grabs his face, pretending to kiss him. Yoongi stares off down the hall.

“That was really cute,” Jeongguk says.

“Yeah they’re pretty fabulous,” Taehyung smiles. “You guys wanna stay for the afterparty? There’s not any booze or debauchery but Haneul’s mom makes a really bitchin’ coffee cake.”

“I’m gonna head home, actually,” Jimin says. “Kind of tired. I’m gonna have Yoongi hyung over, do you mind?”

“Do you.” Taehyung shrugs.

“You could come to my house,” Jeongguk suggests way too eagerly for Yoongi’s liking. “We could…play that game more.”

“…Sure, game, yes,” Taehyung nods. “Deal.”

“Well we’re swapping for the night!” Jimin grins. “See you later, then. Have fun TaeTae!”

“Play safe,” Taehyung remarks and Yoongi definitely does not like how ominous that sounds.

\+ + + +

Yoongi’s first thought is that Jimin’s salary as a research assistant for the Center must be really, really nice considering he doesn’t think Taehyung could afford their apartment with his daycare teacher salary. Their apartment overlooks the river, with ample space and new fixtures and Yoongi feels a little like maybe he shouldn’t actually touch anything. Seeing how nice, how neat, how expensive Jimin’s place looks makes him feel even worse about subjecting Jimin to his shitty, shambly room.

“I can take your jacket,” Jimin says as he holds out a hand. Yoongi quietly shrugs out of it, then hands it over. “Are you hungry? Do you want to order out? I could try and cook but I can’t guarantee it’d be good.”

“Ordering out’s fine,” Yoongi says. He can feel himself hedging off, and he tries to cut it out before it gets too intolerable. “This is a really nice place.”

“Oh, thank you,” Jimin says, a bit muffled from walking into the front entrance’s coat closet. “My mom found it for us. I think she likes it more than we do. But we like it an awful lot, too. What are you in the mood for?”

Yoongi laughs under his breath. The apartment smells so overwhelmingly Jimin that he doesn’t even know if he can tell Taehyung even lives there. The smell clouds any real answer he can think of and replaces them with a lengthy list of perversions he wasn’t even aware he had.

“What are you in the mood for that I can order from a restaurant?” Jimin says.

“I don’t care,” Yoongi mumbles, blushing. “Order whatever you want.”

“I’m ordering chicken, then,” Jimin decides.

Yoongi sits on the sofa, hand carefully running over the deep purple velvet as he tries not to stare at Jimin ordering their food. But it’s impossible, really, not to watch the curve of his back as he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his face, although the air in the apartment has a chill to it.

When he hangs up the phone, he stares across the coffee table at Yoongi. It takes Yoongi a few tries to remember how to blink and he tries to actually form words, but nothing manages to come out other than an embarrassing gargle. Jimin smiles, stands suddenly, plops down onto the sofa so close to Yoongi that their arm hairs tickle.

Breathing is the next to malfunction, Yoongi taking a few shaky inhales as Jimin turns more to face him. And without really thinking much, he turns a little himself. That stare, that intense, electric stare, stirs something deep in the base of Yoongi’s stomach and he’s leaning forward, just a hair—just enough to meet Jimin part of the way, their noses barely touching.

It’s hot in that shortened space. Jimin’s hands move to Yoongi’s thighs and Yoongi feels his chest heaving a little harder. The dizziness and the distortion build and build and build and he wants a crescendo to come but everything just keeps going up up up. Including Jimin’s hands against him. He gulps.

They aren’t kissing, not quite, but with Jimin inching forward again, they fly so dangerously close to it that Yoongi feels nauseous with anticipation. Sometimes, the way they breathe, the way they move just a touch leads to a gentle brush of their lips, and Yoongi desperately wants to close that small gap.

But Jimin breaks their stare, their almost-kiss, ducking his head a little to hang it closer to the crook of Yoongi’s neck.

“Sorry,” he whispers with want straining his voice. His lips dust against Yoongi’s skin as he speaks. “Um. You know, we probably shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No.” The abruptness of the question startles a laugh out of Jimin. “Sorry. I—I should’ve mentioned, my cycle’s just starting and…and maybe this was a terrible idea. We should go to your place, be with Tae and your brother.”

Two options make themselves clear to Yoongi. He can agree, lead the way back to his house, be miserable all night…or he can be the one to close the gap that they both seem terrified of approaching. He sighs a little and shifts to move Jimin away from his shoulder, staring him in the eyes for a while longer. Beneath the thin layer of embarrassment that Yoongi can detect lies an ocean’s worth of desire, and he decides right then and there that he’d rather swim than sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhhh what is this?! Did I just cliffhang you guys?! I DID. *evil laughter* Buckle up, y'all. The next few chapters are quite a ride.


	11. eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that last chapter ending. I hope this makes up for it. Also, another warning - Yoongi speaks a little more in-depth about that time he tried to die.

First kisses hold a kind of magic that can be hard to get again once that first is done. And for a second, Yoongi isn’t sure he’s ready to have that magic dissipate. It’s nice, it’s comforting, to be so close and breathe each other in and have their scents mingle so divinely but not actually moving forward. His tongue juts out to wet his lips and he watches Jimin’s eyes fall to his mouth. He smiles just barely.

“We really shouldn’t,” Jimin says. He still stares at Yoongi’s slick lips, pokes his tongue out to wet his own.

“Absolutely we shouldn’t if you’re not comfortable,” Yoongi says, nodding.

“I don’t want to move faster than you’re ready.” Jimin isn’t much louder than a whisper; he doesn’t need to be, as close as they are to each other. “Consent is sexy, y’know.”

It’s logical, and Yoongi knows. Any other person and he would have shoved them away by now. But Jimin’s pull is strong and Yoongi’s resolve is weak and he can feel every thought going through Jimin about what he’d like to do together and every single one sounds perfect to Yoongi. He sighs and Jimin’s eyes close.

“You and me are inevitable,” Yoongi says, and Jimin opens his eyes again just a shade before Yoongi closes his own. “I think. I think that’s…what’s happening. Inescapable inevitability. Like…going to school or fingernails growing or total eclipses. And it’s scaring the fuck out of me because that’s not a thing that I do. I do quick and easy and detached and I don’t know if I can do that with you and I don’t think that I want to, and…I want better than me for you. But I want you, for me.”

The lack of response, the stillness of Jimin, makes Yoongi panic. He’d said the absolute worst things he could possibly say. Fuck fuck fuck everything is ruined. He leans back slightly but doesn’t get five millimeters before Jimin’s hand is against the back of his neck. He pulls Yoongi into his orbit again, their foreheads touching, noses rubbing, lips separated by hardly a sheet of paper’s width. When Yoongi licks his lips again, his tongue tastes a hint of Jimin; he tastes of peppermint.

“The first time we fuck,” Jimin says slowly, and Yoongi lets out a whimper at how low and heavy Jimin’s voice is, “I don’t want it to be like this. I want it to be because we want to, not because I feel like I have to fuck you or I’ll literally die.”

“Is that how you feel right now?”

“You already know it is.”

Yoongi breathes Jimin in again and starts to respond, but a sharp buzz startles them both. They break apart and Jimin hops up to go toward the apartment’s video monitor, and he sighs.

“It’s food,” he says as he buzzes the delivery person in.

Yoongi flops backwards onto the couch and tries to will his dick into calming down.

\+ + + +

They eat quietly, separately, with Yoongi occupying the couch still and Jimin retreating again to his chair, as if the coffee table barrier might keep hormones in check. Yoongi considers mentioning that it doesn’t do any good, that he can still read everything about Jimin, but with how embarrassed Jimin seems to feel, he decides to just let it go for now.

“Can I ask you a question?” Well, letting it go for now is overrated. Jimin looks up, gives a quick tilt of his chin as a yes. “What do you normally do? I mean, during your cycle. Do you just…ride it out, or?”

“It’s embarrassing,” Jimin laughs, his face starting to have a crimson cast to it. “I spend a lot of time by myself. Tae usually stays with his parents and comes back when I give the all-clear.”

“Have you two ever…?”

“Once,” Jimin says. “It was a mistake. His cycle started early and mine started late and there was an overlap and…that hadn’t ever happened before and we just sort of…did it. It was gross and ill-advised and you’re now the third person who knows that it happened. Maybe fourth if he’s told your brother.”

“How many others?”

Confusion settles on Jimin’s face for a moment. “Oh. Um…Six? Six or seven. And you…Only Hyojin?”

“No, one other,” Yoongi says. “Hoseok, since you’re probably going to ask.”

“Oh fuck.” The amusement of hearing Jimin swear again takes a little of the sting out of how baffled Jimin looks. “I bet Tae money you’d say Namjoon.”

“Namjoon has literally never been interested in guys until Seokjin showed up,” Yoongi shakes his head. “And we’ve known each other too long for it not to feel creepily incestuous.”

“But Hoseok’s different.”

“Hoseok’s different.” Yoongi nods absently. “It—He wasn’t part of things when I was really small. Namjoon, I’ve known since I was six. Hoseok showed up on the scene when I was twelve. We never dated or anything but…almost. I dunno, my life is full of almost. I love him a lot but he’s too good. He needs someone good.”

“I like hearing you speak,” Jimin says with a soft, easy smile. Yoongi looks up and finds himself smiling back. “I want to know everything about you. Who was your first kiss?”

“…Hoseok,” Yoongi laughs. “I don’t really kiss a lot. I don’t really deal with people so close to me.”

“That’s going to make sex pretty tricky,” Jimin jokes. “What happened to you?”

“What?”

“I mean. Everyone worries about you,” Jimin says. “And sometimes when I touch you there’s this sadness that kind of fogs everything over. They watch you. Like they’re scared for you. So…what happened?”

“Oh.” Yoongi considers lying. He considers saying nothing. He considers distracting Jimin by sitting in his lap and grinding until they’re both too dizzy to care about deep conversation. “I had a bad month and I wanted to sleep. I couldn’t sleep. I was up for…three days, I think? And I couldn’t sleep, and I just really really wanted to sleep, so I swallowed a bottle of my mom’s sleeping pills and this is the part where you leave. Or you tell me to leave.”

“Why would I do that?”

This time, Yoongi’s the one to look lost. “Because…I’m fucked up?”

“On a scale of one to fucked up, that’s about a three,” Jimin says. “I’ve seen, heard, and done worse. And I’d be kind of a jerk if I turned you away for that. I understand. But I just…can you try really hard to not do that again?”

“I don’t think people understand just how hard I’m already trying,” Yoongi says. He sighs some. “I was in a mental facility for three months after that. I just got out the day we met. And now I have to see this therapist…I went for the first time earlier today. He’s going to switch out my pills. Or lower my dose. Thinks maybe that’s why I don’t feel any better right now, my dose being too high. And I hope like fuck he’s right because I’d like to be normal for you. I mean. My normal self, I don’t think I can be normal.”

He stares at the shredded pile of napkin bits in front of himself once he shuts up and wonders when he even started tearing his napkin apart. He wants to look Jimin’s way, but seeing anything like judgment in the other’s eyes would break him, so he simply grabs another napkin to pull that apart, too.

“Do you know why you couldn’t sleep?” Jimin asks and his tone reminds Yoongi of Dr. Kim.

“It just happens sometimes,” Yoongi says. “It usually isn’t as bad as it had gotten then…And I feel like an asshole for it. For scaring Jeongguk and Hoseok the way I did. For…not even really feeling guilty about wanting to sleep forever. I just. I dunno. I hated that hospital, though. They kept trying to draw out this whole tragic backstory from me and I don’t even have one. I’m just a sad fuck. My parents divorced when I was nineteen. That’s the worst that’s happened to me and it’s not even that bad. I’m glad they divorced. They weren’t a good fit. I would _love_ to have a reason for feeling like I don’t need to be here taking up space and burdening everyone I care about but I don’t. It’s just my dumb fucking brain.” Yoongi jumps at the feel of the sofa shifting, looking over as Jimin sits beside him again. Jimin smiles, then lays his head on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you shared all that with me,” he says. “And you should know that if you ever want to talk, or you ever can’t sleep again, I’m here.”

“I know,” Yoongi says. It feels foreign to actually believe Jimin on this, given how hard it is to believe friends he’s known half his life, but he doesn’t dispute. “And…you should know that I’m okay with helping you. With your cycle and all. I mean, I’m good at it. Helping.”

“You are going to kill me.” Jimin lets out a groan that lights up every nerve in Yoongi’s body. “Four days. That’s all, I have a short cycle and it’s only four times a year. We make it past four days without me trying to claw my way into you and I swear we can throw Taehyung out and fuck in every room of this apartment. Deal?”

“Deal,” Yoongi nods. “But maybe I _want_ you to claw your way into me.”

“Stop.”

“I don’t really care about sex that much. But I apparently care about it with you, a lot, so this is me telling you that I’m absolutely consenting.”

“Seriously, stop.” There’s a pain in Jimin’s voice that makes Yoongi quiet down. “I wouldn’t feel right about it, not with that weird gray area where maybe it’s not you thinking like that but…me, thinking _for_ you.”

“You’re an asshole,” Yoongi laughs some. “You talk about me pushing you away and now here I am, right fucking here, and you won’t do anything. You’re all talk, Park Jimin.”  
Jimin stands again. He starts tidying up the coffee table, taking the uneaten chicken toward his kitchen wordlessly. Yoongi’s chest tightens and he finds himself breathing too fast. Fuck, he’s fucked up again. He thinks of how to fix it, how to stop this screaming silence between them as Jimin keeps cleaning, but none of his words work anymore. When Jimin goes toward the hall, Yoongi watches with a sob threatening to well up within him.

“Stop freaking out and follow!” Jimin yells, and Yoongi is on his feet in a nanosecond.

\+ + + +

The bed is harder than Yoongi expected. He thinks about how plush his own bed is, how climbing in feels like wrapping up in a cotton ball. He expected Jimin’s bed to be similar, and when it isn’t, he pauses before crawling completely in. The hesitation definitely isn’t related to nerves.

The rest of the room fails to match up with his assumptions, too—it feels too serious, too grown-up. He wonders if Jimin’s mom decorated or if maybe he knows less about Jimin than he thinks he knows. Before he can comment, the bed shifts, and he watches as Jimin moves closer.

Jimin’s hands trail down the side of Yoongi’s face for a moment, eyes scanning Yoongi for some kind of reaction before he leans closer. Yoongi shifts his weight to lean back against his elbows, and he’s disappointed that Jimin doesn’t move with him. Not at first. It takes a few seconds before Jimin dips closer, closer, until personal space becomes obsolete and Yoongi can feel Jimin’s heart pounding against his own chest and he’s absolutely certain that this time they’re really going to kiss.

Yoongi shivers as Jimin drags a hand down his chest, as their hips just barely touch. He’s not used to it, the extra weight that’s par for the course with being under another man. Hyojin is light, easy, barely even there, but Jimin…He feels Jimin, _really_ feels him, and he can’t think of anything better to feel at the moment. He likes the heaviness, the helplessness, the slow drag of Jimin quietly exploring him. No, not exploring…studying. Jimin pushes Yoongi’s shirt up to stroke his stomach and Yoongi thinks he looks like a college kid cramming for a test. Yoongi’s breath quickens the lower Jimin travels.

“Is this okay?” Jimin asks as he pushes his finger against the button of Yoongi’s jeans. It’s uncomfortable for a second with how hard he is, but Yoongi nods anyway, and Jimin unbuttons, unzips.

There’s fifteen seconds (Yoongi counted) between his pants unzipping, shirt tossed aside, and Jimin’s weight over him again. Jimin smiles and Yoongi swears he hears music swell. Sweat curls down the side of Jimin’s neck, snaking down to his collarbone and Yoongi has the overwhelming urge to lick it. So when he does, when he finally stops ignoring those urges, he feels a sense of accomplishment at the slide of his tongue drawing a moan out of Jimin. That noise, that glorious noise, absolves Yoongi of all of his anxieties and he needs it again and again and again and every lick just makes Jimin louder until he moves a hand up to stop Yoongi from coming closer again.

Yoongi startles, and Jimin’s eyes go wide and he jerks his hand from Yoongi’s throat, an apology on his lips but not fully coming together. It’s cute how concerned Jimin’s being, but Yoongi stops the sputtering by clasping Jimin’s finger, pulling the hand back, placing it back around his neck. They watch each other (another eight seconds, by Yoongi’s count), and Yoongi feels Jimin breathing a bit harder as his fingers tighten just enough to feel. It’s three seconds before Jimin is close enough again to kiss, and one before Yoongi finally, _finally_ gets a better taste.

It doesn’t feel like anything at first, which makes Yoongi question every single thing he’d thought about this being something more. There’s heat, and a bit of Jimin’s sweat and that really nice peppermint tingle but nothing like fireworks or ticker tape parades or—

_Oh_. There it is. Lips part and tongues collide and suddenly it’s fire, not heat, and an entire Thanksgiving parade with obnoxious floats and dance numbers and giant balloons crashing into everything. He feels Jimin. He feels everything, and it’s not even remotely enough.

There’s urgency radiating off of Jimin, too, and a quiet roll of his hips against Yoongi’s and suddenly they’re grinding and kissing and Jimin’s grip on Yoongi’s neck gets a bit tighter and oh _god_ Jimin growls low and deep against his mouth and Yoongi thinks he might black out. Maybe he _does_ black out for a second.

“Don’t,” Yoongi gasps the second Jimin starts to pull away, to move his hand from Yoongi’s neck. Jimin, mouth shiny and rosy and just a bit fuller than usual, looks at him with a small quirk of his lips.

“I have to get a condom, right?” Jimin asks, and Yoongi considers sputtering out another _don’t_.

He smiles slightly as Jimin sinks down to kiss just beside his ear, but the loss of weight over him, even momentarily, feels so deeply disappointing that it scares Yoongi a little to need Jimin that much.

The drawer slides open, and Jimin rummages around for a bit before grabbing a condom and a small bottle. Yoongi watches the way Jimin’s back muscles move as he closes the door, watches the curve of Jimin’s ass before he turns to come back to the bed, and thinks he’s done absolutely nothing worthy of deserving this. There isn’t a chance to say as much, to voice his appreciation for everything Jimin has to offer, as Jimin straddles him again, kisses him with and bites at his lip and then his hand’s back at Yoongi’s throat.

Impatience gets the better of him and Yoongi shifts to align their hips, their impossibly hard cocks, as he starts to roll up against Jimin. Jimin growls again and Yoongi shivers, shudders, damn near _cries_ with how good that sound makes him feel. They rock together, pressed so tight it’s almost painful and Yoongi finds himself wanting it to be even _tighter_. His hands move to rest just beneath Jimin’s ass to pull him closer, closer, closer. Jimin sighs and stops kissing for a second, panting, attempting to mutter something that Yoongi thinks might be _stop_ but he can’t really tell, and before he can ask there’s a wet warmth against him. Jimin clamps his hand around Yoongi’s neck a little tighter, shuddering and practically howling through his orgasm, and the second his cum stops he moves his hand away.

“Fuck,” he laughs quietly. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I—That doesn’t normally…Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” Yoongi croaks. Clears his throat. Tries again without sounding so strained. “It’s fine. That felt good.”

“ _Fuck_ , hyung, you smell so good,” Jimin groans again as he lets his head drop just beside Yoongi’s. He doesn’t seem to mind the cum between them, lying against Yoongi and turning his head some to kiss his ear a few times. Yoongi tries to stifle a laugh. “Okay. See? That doesn’t count. We’re still good. Four days.”

“Right. Four days.” Yoongi nods and doesn’t mention that he’s pretty sure they’re going to fail.


	12. twelve

It happens again three more times before Yoongi falls asleep. None of it counts, according to Jimin, and Yoongi doesn't bother disputing. It doesn't matter, not really, not as long as he can continue having Jimin so close and so warm and so eager to touch him, to be touched. Three more times and Yoongi only comes once, and he's okay with that because the last thing he sees when he falls asleep is Jimin's smiling face, head lolled lazily to one side as they mutter to each other about insignificant things.

When he wakes, the bed is empty and an alarm bleats an annoying rhythm from a place Yoongi can't discern. A panic billows in like smoke beneath a closed door. He takes a moment to remember where exactly he is and why he's there, then sits up to look around. Jimin isn't there. He isn't in the bathroom either, and Yoongi shuffles down the hallway to continue searching, eyes squinty and a quiet groan humming out of him. 

The search ends in the living room. Jimin lies on the couch, flopped with his arm brushing against the floor and his briefs only barely covering his ass. A mountain of tissues litter the floor. 

“...Hey,” Yoongi says softly. He leans over the back of the sofa and pats Jimin's back. “Your alarm is going off.”

Jimin gasps, sits up with a start. It takes a few seconds for something like recognition to bloom, and once it does, he looks down. His cheeks gain an amusing pink tint and Yoongi could swear he's trying to cover up his bare chest. 

“What happened?” Yoongi asks. “What are you doing out here?”

“Oh. Um. You looked really tired,” Jimin says. “I wanted to let you sleep. And I thought I could sleep beside you…but I can't, not right now, so I came in here to—”

The red spreads beyond his cheeks, down his chest and to the tips of his ears. He scrambles to start picking up tissues, and Yoongi barely contains his laughter at Jimin murmuring apologies. 

“If you needed to get off again, you could've woken me up,” Yoongi says. He's proud of himself for how calm he sounds while saying it considering the tempest crashing around his insides at the thought. 

“No, no, you absolutely need rest more than you need me awkwardly rubbing on you,” Jimin insists. 

“You could awkwardly rub _in_ me.”

“Oh my God hyung, go home.”

Jimin laughs, walking closer to Yoongi once he's disposed of his shame. Yoongi smiles, turns so that his elbows rest against the back of the couch. It's nice, he thinks, to wake up and see Jimin wandering around in only his dark blue underwear. Nice to feel sort of normal to see this person, all abs and thighs and ass, and have a host of impure thoughts settle in his brain rather than the decidedly neutral thoughts he normally has. Jimin makes him want to fuck. Jimin makes him want to be fucked. 

His heart nearly bounces right out of his chest as Jimin traps him against the sofa, leaning in close with the kind of predatory alpha smile he'd read about in books. His stomach twists. 

“I have to get ready for work,” Jimin says lowly. “Do you want to shower with me?”

Yoongi thinks _no_ has been permanently erased from his vocabulary at this point. 

\+ + +

The shower has two heads. The walls and floor are an array of grayscale and Yoongi thinks half a football team could fit inside comfortably. But all that space remains just space with how little breathing room Jimin gives him. 

He feels small, frail, standing there naked with Jimin, and it's only partially because of the stark differences in their body types. He tries to remember the last time he'd ever been fully naked with someone and comes up with nothing. With Hyojin, there's always some piece of clothing still lingering behind to keep her from seeing all of him. With Hoseok, he hadn't even gotten out of his pants most of the time. Nausea creeps momentarily, but the way Jimin tips his chin up, kisses into him all slow and wanting, makes him forget to be nervous about this new experience.

Cold water, colder than Yoongi usually likes, patters against them, sliding down Yoongi’s skin and he can’t tell if the shivering is from the chill or Jimin’s hands finding purchase within his hair. It hurts a little, the angle that Jimin tugs his head into, but he holds his breath and waits for Jimin to do something. _Anything_. Teeth graze his neck as if testing the waters and Yoongi whines. It’s torturous to have Jimin so close, so hard against his thigh, but doing nothing more than casually, barely touching the skin against his neck.

In high school, when cycles and dating and claiming became a new novelty for his classmates, so many of the girls would pin their hair up, wear wider-necked shirts, just to show off bites from their boyfriends. Such a privilege to be claimed like that, even if they didn’t fully understand the heaviness of both claiming and being claimed. But Yoongi understands now, and it’s suddenly not such a frivolous thought to want that mark, to want everyone to see it. And he can feel it vibrating from Jimin, how badly Jimin wants to sink his teeth in. He kisses along Yoongi’s jaw instead.

\+ + + +

How do you know you love Jia?  
 **22:45**

**Namja Oonie**  
dude did you seriously just text me…from your bed? laying right next to me?  
 **22:45**

seriously?  
 **22:45**

i’m not answering this over text. i can’t even believe you.  
 **22:46**

Yoongi laughs, digging his heel into Namjoon’s thigh briefly in protest. Namjoon wiggles in place in an attempt to launch Yoongi’s legs off of him, but Yoongi is nothing if not exceptionally good at clinging, and so his efforts are fruitless. Sighing, he reaches to smack Yoongi on the head instead.

“Why are you such a weirdo?” he asks.

“My mom dropped me once, fucked me all the way up.” Namjoon laughs a little, then sighs and rests his head against his hands. Yoongi turns his head to stare for a moment. “Jimin feels comfortable. Like…like we’ve known each other for a really long time. Like maybe we’ve lived a hundred lives together before. Like that.”

“Deep,” Namjoon mutters. “You gonna run?”

“I dunno, probly.” Yoongi sighs and gives up on the puzzle game he’s only half-assed playing on his phone. Instead, he minimizes it, pulls up his message app, scrolls for a bit until he comes to Jimin’s thread. “One of us’ll wind up running anyway. May as well get a head start.”

“Y’know, I’ve made it a point not to call you a dumbass in a few months,” Namjoon says, “but I’m dangerously close to calling you a dumbass right now.”

“I know,” Yoongi says. “Whatever, at least my cat loves me.”

“Jimin could love you too,” Namjoon says. “But that’s none of my business.”

“It’s really not,” Yoongi says with a nod. “Just leave me alone, keep sexting your girlfriend.”

“I am not—I’m _texting_ Jin, thank you very much, and how are you going to tell me to leave you alone while you’re practically glued to my side? _You_ leave _me_ alone!”

“You’re sexting Jin,” Yoongi says. Namjoon practically smothers him with his own pillow.

\+ + + +

Jimin barely says hello before Yoongi is on him, fingers curled into Jimin’s belt loops to drag him closer. Somehow, thirty-six hours apart felt more like three hundred thirty-six, and Yoongi isn’t really sure how he made the detour on his trip to the store and wound up in Songpa-gu when he had zero reason to cross the river, but he’s here, and he’s kissing Jimin, and he’s humming rather happily as he walks Jimin backwards into his apartment.

“You didn’t text me back,” he mumbles, lips firmly affixed to Jimin’s, in the hopes that that will accurately convey that he missed Jimin.

Jimin laughs some. “Um. Hi, Tae’s here,” he says.

“Sup.” Taehyung’s voice immediately draws Yoongi out of his haze, and he takes several giant steps away from Jimin and wipes his mouth. “No, no, keep going. I like a show.”

“Shut up,” Jimin says with another laugh. He looks to Yoongi with a smile, though Yoongi is too busy staring at the floor and trying not to be mortified. “I just got home, actually. Let me change and then we can go for a walk or something?” Yoongi nods. “Great. I’ll be right back.”

Yoongi refuses to look up, to catch Taehyung’s eyes that he can feel are on him. He tries to shove his hands deeper into his pockets and curses how incredibly shallow the fabric is. A steady crunch fills the silence, Taehyung steadily munching from a bag of honey butter chips. He isn’t wearing pants.

“So. Omega,” Taehyung says.

“Beta,” Yoongi says.

“Bullshit.”

“Do you want to see my license?”

Glowering takes precedence over embarrassment at this point; Yoongi’s already short fuse gets cut in half when it comes to people assuming incorrectly about his designation. He doesn’t wait for Taehyung to answer, crossing into the living room and flipping his wallet open to shove in Taehyung’s face.

“You were not cute in this picture,” Taehyung says.

Yoongi snatches his wallet back. “You’re annoying.”

“I am,” Taehyung nods. He shoves another chip in his mouth, chews for a bit, then stands. It makes Yoongi all sorts of uncomfortable, how close Taehyung gets to him. He lifts his head to stare up at him; if he were a weaker person, he might’ve been intimidated by the vein of darkness running through Taehyung’s near black eyes. “Listen. That’s my best friend,” he says lowly. “And he’s crazy about you. If you break his heart, I will fuck you up.”

Yoongi stares. Blinks. Then laughs right in Taehyung’s face. “Yeah, ditto to you, but with my brother.”

“Fair,” Taehyung nods. “So. We understand each other, then?”

“Sure,” Yoongi nods.

It’s almost impressive how quickly Taehyung morphs from a blank, sort of scary face into looking like a shaggy, happy sheepdog. “You want a chip?” he asks.

\+ + + +

“I thought we were avoiding each other until I’m not as…amorous,” Jimin says with amusement coloring his tone.

“We are,” Yoongi nods. He unlocks the door to his house and pulls Jimin along quickly before his mother can say anything. “You don’t see me right now.”

“That’s not how this is supposed to work,” Jimin laughs. He walks toward the cat tower set up in a corner of the room, picking Licorice Killer up. “Hello, my little buddy!”

“Bye, cat,” Yoongi says as he takes the cat from Jimin.

He walks through the shared bathroom between his and Jeongguk’s room and puts her on his brother’s bed, ignoring all of his questions and locking the bathroom door on his way back to his room.

“Wait, don’t—Yoongi.” Jimin lets out another small laugh and leans away from Yoongi’s mouth. “We’re not talking?”

“Do you want to talk?”

They search each other. Yoongi isn’t sure if he’s looking for an out, or maybe an in, and he doesn’t know if Jimin is doing the same. It’s strange that he can’t read this other boy all the time, even when they’re touching like this, even when he can feel Jimin’s excitement growing against him. Jimin quirks his lip a little, then gives his head a gentle shake, and Yoongi doesn’t need much more than that.

The walls in his home are relatively thick. When Jeongguk blasts his shitty music, Yoongi barely hears it in his room. He never hears their mother crying in the shower even though he knows she does. So he’s certain that there won’t be any eavesdropping with Jimin, unless Jeongguk creeps into the bathroom and Yoongi knows his brother better than that. He can’t get undressed fast enough.

Jimin isn’t wearing a masker and blueberries fill Yoongi’s lungs with every inhale and he doesn’t even mind that his entire room smells like a pastry shop now. It’s comforting. He sort of hopes the scent lingers. His hands claw at Jimin’s chest, straddled over him and leaned in close to kiss him. He hates that _not_ kissing him feels suffocating, that he can’t just feel the undulations of Jimin’s tongue against his forever. Part of him wants to apologize to Namjoon for making fun of how handsy he and Jia are but the rest is far more focused on rocking, rolling his hips against Jimin’s. He’s hard—they both are—and Jimin’s hands and their firm hold on his ass make every ache more intense.

“Hyung,” Jimin gasps, and Yoongi stops.

Jimin wants more, that unspoken question shouting in his eyes. Yoongi smiles and holds Jimin’s face a little tighter in his hands, kisses him harder, gives an experimental bite that has Jimin groaning. He jerks his hips up and it startles Yoongi enough that he bites harder than intended. His sharp canines nick Jimin’s bottom lip and the kiss turns coppery but neither of them stops. If anything, Jimin starts to grind a little harder.

It’s hard to focus, between the overwhelming smell of Jimin and the metallic taste in his mouth, on his tongue, and just how goddamned badly he wants to get off. His hands slide from Jimin’s face to his mattress, palms planted on either side of Jimin’s head as he starts to work his hips in a faster, harder rhythm. He leans in, licks at the blood against Jimin’s swelling lip, smiles at the steady stream of filth pouring out of Jimin’s mouth. Even with the swearing, even scrunching his face up, fingers digging bruises into the backs of Yoongi’s thighs, Jimin looks angelic. Like literal sunshine. Sweaty, foul-mouthed, bloody sunshine. Yoongi comes with a sigh that’s nearly buried by Jimin’s much louder orgasm.

Yoongi feels weak, arms threatening to give out on him. He avoids collapse by resting his forearms against the mattress, letting his head down near Jimin’s. The light kisses Jimin plants by his ear making him laugh quietly. 

“I like you a lot, Hedgie,” Jimin mumbles into his hair. Yoongi sighs, then shifts to kiss Jimin again before peeling off of him to avoid accidentally saying those words back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all still with me? Good. Try not to die okay?


	13. thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are changing. Yoongi might not be coping so well. So the last bit of this chapter is a little depressing, and you can skip and I can summarize for you if need be.

It’s on day three that Yoongi realizes he’s two days into his own cycle, a full nine days early. He’s been early before, sporadically, and usually having to do with illness. But he isn’t sick, and he hasn’t been early in over a year. It makes little sense, even less sense when he thinks about how he hasn’t felt achy or short-tempered or even feverish. He’s fine, for the most part. Until he smells Jimin.

“I think you’re breaking me,” Yoongi mumbles around the lollipop stuck against his cheek. He’s slumped a little, legs stretched beneath Jimin’s sheets. Jimin crawls closer, starts to kiss his way up Yoongi’s spine, and Yoongi gives a violent shudder. “I’m serious. You’re fuckin’ me up.”

“Mm, you _want_ me to be fucking you.”

“I’m trying to be serious.” Yoongi’s laughter as he speaks undermines that statement, and he ducks his head closer to his chest as Jimin kisses and nips higher. The weight of Jimin against his back feels nice. Distracting. “Seriously. I think my cycle’s started. It’s never been early like this before. I mean early, sometimes, but I don’t feel sick, just…really fucking into you oh my god you can’t do this while I’m trying to talk.”

Jimin lets out a wicked laugh, drawing his teeth away from their teasing grip on Yoongi’s earlobe. “But you smell so good,” he mumbles before sucking against Yoongi’s shoulder. The more he uses teeth, the less Yoongi remembers about what it is he wanted to say. Jimin moves in to kiss a corner of Yoongi’s mouth before stealing his lollipop and sticking it into his own mouth. “I just want it to be over now. I want you.”

“Right, what I’m saying is—fuck, Jimin.” Yoongi sighs and yanks the lollipop out of Jimin’s mouth to toss it onto the floor.

Talking serves no purpose at this point, not with both of them in a mating mood and interested in nothing outside the scope of one another. The wound on Jimin’s lip looks better but they’ve managed to mar each other up in other places; Yoongi only briefly noticed the bruising around his hips, the crescent-shaped marks against his back from Jimin digging his nails in. He looks sad and frail all marked up but Jimin…Jimin looks beautiful. 

They kiss with vigor, with a quiet understanding among them that at any given moment, Yoongi can end it all and walk away and they’ll never kiss again. They kiss as if neither of them can stand the thought. Yoongi draws his knee up, spreading his legs just enough for Jimin to fit perfectly between them. It’s light at first, Jimin and his gentle thrust against the heat of Yoongi’s belly. It’s almost a question. Yoongi quietly moans his answer, and Jimin starts to roll his hips faster, sliding into a better position so that their members are better aligned. The way that Jimin pushing against him makes his toes curl would be embarrassing to Yoongi if he could think anything beyond _yes please more_.

The room fills with obnoxious trot music, all horns and vocal trills, and Jimin stops moving and laughs.

“Shit, fuck, sorry,” Yoongi murmurs.

He tries to reach for his phone, a fruitless attempt, before Jimin shifts to grab it for him. Setting it to silent takes very little effort but Yoongi worries maybe it’s too late and he’s ruined the mood. He pauses just before putting the phone aside again when the screen cuts on, staring at the pop-up notification.

**Hyung**  
Where are you? I really wanted to talk to you before dinner.  
 **17:33**

“Fuck,” Yoongi groans, letting his head flop back against Jimin’s duvet cover. “Fuck, Jimin, I—oh, God wait…Stop. I gotta…It’s Thursday.”

“…Okay?” Jimin blinks a few times, pushing himself up to try and scan Yoongi’s face for the answer to what the hell that’s supposed to mean.

“Thursday is Hoseok. I’m sorry, I told him I’d meet him early to talk…”

Something like sadness wisps over Jimin’s face, just for a second, and it makes Yoongi feel like the worst person on earth. He frowns, and without really thinking, reaches up to pet Jimin’s cheek.

“I’m not even supposed to be here anyway, remember?” Yoongi says. His heart beats a little faster as Jimin smiles at him. “We’re supposed to be apart until this cycle thing’s—Cycle! Fuck, right, that’s what I wanted to say—it won’t be tomorrow as the last day of waiting. I started early so…Sunday. Sunday’s our day. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jimin nods.

Yoongi expects a fight. He expects a big scene about alphas and their needs and disrespectful betas and omegas but it doesn’t happen. Jimin simply sits up, resting back against his heels, and moves out of Yoongi’s way.

\+ + + +

“Zero to ten, how’s the last week been?” Hoseok asks.

It’s crowded in the restaurant, more crowded than Yoongi really likes, but Hoseok had insisted on Mexican and doubly insisted on this particular hole in the wall. Half-price margaritas have people coming out in droves. Yoongi would’ve preferred talking somewhere more intimate, less open, but he figures free alcohol makes up for feeling so exposed. He keeps his head down, eyes locked on his drink and the condensation sliding down the stem of the glass.

“You made a rhyme, you do it all the time,” Yoongi jokes. He ignores Hoseok’s eye roll, poking at the frozen margarita in front of him. “Six. No…eight.”

“Eight?” He hates how surprised Hoseok sounds. How wide Hoseok’s eyes are. “Really? Eight?”

“It’s been a good week.” A great week, he thinks. Which just leads to thoughts of why the week had been so wonderful. He shifts in his seat some to avoid any possible mortification that comes along with getting hard in public.

“Are you blushing?”

“No,” Yoongi scoffs. He raises the collar of his leather jacket in an attempt to hide his cheeks. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I just…need to make sure we’re okay,” Hoseok says. Even without looking up, Yoongi can see him fidgeting in place. “We barely spoke last week, didn’t speak at all this week…So I want to make sure that whole thing with me hanging out with Jimin didn’t break us. And I know we’ve been through much, much rougher but…” There’s a twist to Hoseok’s mouth that Yoongi knows means he’s trying to think of the nicest way to say something not so nice. Yoongi braces himself for it.

“Sometimes I just don’t know what will set something off in you. And I don’t say that in a mean way or judgmental way. It’s just sometimes…it’s hard.”

“Sorry to burden you by existing,” Yoongi says.

“Oh fuck off,” Hoseok groans and rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not what I mean. I’m sorry for being a dick at the park. I think it was just frustration and then Seokjin and his cycle was making my head go crazy…I dunno, maybe I’m the one here who needs to get laid.”

“I’m not getting laid,” Yoongi says.

“You smell like a bakery, Yoongs. Jimin is all over you.”

Yoongi feels his skin heating up at that and he doesn’t know if it’s embarrassment or his cycle and thinking about Jimin. Jimin and his hands and that mouth and his tongue and—

“I’m not getting laid,” Yoongi says again. The extra emphasis makes Hoseok shrug, and he sips his drink without a word. “We haven’t fucked. And I’m not just saying that so you leave me alone about it. We really haven’t. It’s just been…touching. A lot of touching.”

“You’re smiling,” Hoseok grins. “I forgot how cute you are when you smile.”

“Stop.”

“Maybe I should write Jimin a manual. ‘How To Handle Your Yoongi,’” Hoseok says. “I can draw a little chart for him, let him know how you like to be touched just so—”

“Stop!” Yoongi laughs and swats at Hoseok’s hand coming closer to his neck. “Don’t be embarrassing. Don’t write a manual on me. Or I’ll write one on _you_. Pervert.”

“I hope you take things I taught you and apply them to your new boyfriend.”

“He’s not—Stop talking.”

Yoongi downs half of his margarita while trying to avoid thinking about any of his liaisons with Hoseok, or using any of that with Jimin, or the awkwardly intrusive thoughts of the three of them together. He sighs. Jimin is definitely fucking him up.

\+ + + +

“What is this?” Hyojin asks, wrinkling her nose up in confusion.

She leans against the door of her apartment, head tilted as Yoongi shifts in place awkwardly. It seemed like a good idea initially, swinging by Hyojin’s to explain this new…whatever it is he’s doing with Jimin, but seeing her now, resting against the door in one of his old band t-shirts and distractingly pantsless, he thinks maybe he’s made a mistake.

“I…”

“Oh, early this month?” She smiles and steps back some as she opens the door wider for him. “Come on in, then. I was just about to start a drama marathon. No work today so—”

“I didn’t really come for…I mean, I’m early but that’s not why I’m here,” Yoongi says. Just a few words, and then a quick retreat. Simple. “I’m kind of seeing someone now. So we shouldn’t…do this thing anymore.”

Looking at the floor is far easier than looking her in the eyes, but even then it’s easy to sense her eyes on him. The judgment there. The disappointment. Yoongi feels like actual trash.

“Seriously?” she laughs some. “You’re not serious.”

“I just think it’s not a good idea,” he says. “For reasons.”

“What reasons?”

“I don’t really want to—”

“So you start dating someone and suddenly you can’t tell me things anymore?” She scoffs again. “Wow, okay. I didn’t expect that kinda thing from you, Min Yoongi. But…I guess if that’s what you want, then so be it.”

“You’ve fucked half the alphas out there and you’re really going to get pissed at me for this _one_ time?”

It’s an awful thing to say and he’s aware of it a third of the way through saying it, but his brain can’t send signals to his mouth to shut the fuck up fast enough. The change in the atmosphere makes him huddle into his jacket a bit more.

“Bye, Yoongi,” Hyojin says as she starts to close the door. He turns to leave without disputing.

\+ + + +

Bad thoughts have a way of echoing, of multiplying so frequently and so vigorously that they suffocate all the good, rational thoughts until all that’s left is a choir of bad. Yoongi’s mental choir sings for what he’s certain is edging into the third millennium. His head hurts from the noise.

A few passersby in the train station leave bills beside him, and he thinks he must look awful for people to assume he’s there as a panhandler. He probably is awful for pocketing the money rather than dispute.

He unlocks his phone and checks the time. He was due at Jimin’s an hour ago, and judging from the text notifications, Jimin was worried. He’d text him back. Soon. Eventually. Maybe. For now, Yoongi sits and waits. He’s not even sure what he’s waiting for. Maybe sitting still, watching other people live their lives, he’ll figure out how to not be a disappointment to everyone he knows. Maybe if he waits long enough, everyone will forget him, and they’ll be better for it.

A train slides into the station and Yoongi watches the swell of the crowd fluctuate forward, the way they part to let people off. Crowds have never been on his list of favorite things but he thinks how easy it would be to disappear among them. But it all seems so stupid, so ridiculously overdramatic, to want to abandon his entire life because of one fairly innocuous remark. That isn’t how normal people react. But normal people don’t dig deep to say the most hurtful things they can possibly say to someone who’s a close friend. Normal people don’t lead people on.

Transit staff click on and off over the sound system above, warbling about delays and arrivals and safety reminders. People come and go and come and go and Yoongi wonders if any of the rest of them are just as miserable. But it feels ridiculous to feel like shit, like maybe he’s not worth anything at all, considering he’d just told Hoseok two days ago about how great his week’s been. He sniffles some and runs his thumb over his phone screen to wipe away a droplet of something. The ceiling must be leaking or something. It’s definitely not his eyes.

It’s ridiculous. He shouldn’t be upset. He should be the one apologizing to her for being a jerk. Maybe. Or maybe, he thinks as he watches another train pull up, he might fare better just casually stepping out past the safety barrier and waiting for another train to make the feedback loop in his head stop. The thought sends his stomach into a series of knots, and he sniffles again before unlocking his phone.

Do you think you could come get me?  
 **19:32**


	14. fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fairly mellow chapter but it does briefly mention a previous attempt Yoongi made, so...be advised that that's in here, steel yourself or skip if need be. As for the song that's on repeat - [please listen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QMs4TEnWTsA) and fall in love with it. Also I know this is going up a day early but I think I'm going to shift to Saturday posting rather than Sunday, I hope y'all don't mind.

Wind floating over Yoongi’s outstretched hand and the gentle murmur of Lim Kim playing for probably the eightieth time (he’d lost count) fill the silence as the landscapes grows steadily less industrialized. Hoseok has to be genuinely annoyed by this point; two hours of driving and Yoongi had changed songs maybe twice. But he smiles each time Yoongi brings himself to look over, and he drives without complaint, and Yoongi thinks maybe Hoseok might be an actual, literal angel.

He rests his head against his shoulder, splaying his fingers momentarily before bringing them together again and undulating his hand to feel the resistance of the wind. They’ve done this before, running away from the city off to the shore. A few times. And every time because Yoongi suddenly can’t handle life and living. He owes Hoseok more than he can ever afford to repay.

“Do you remember,” Yoongi says in a sleepy murmur, “when you got your license? And you drove us to Busan and we had a really nice day and then I ruined it?” Hoseok laughs quietly. “And then you tried to act like I didn’t ruin it and I felt like an asshole anyway and I blew you like six times?”

“Why are you bringing this up?” Hoseok asks.

“Just thinking.” Yoongi drops his hand against the side of the car. “You’re good. You’re a good person. I treat you like shit and you’re still here and…You know.”

“You’re welcome,” Hoseok says. Yoongi lets out a relieved sigh at not having to actually say thank you. “But let’s try not to talk about you blowing me again for the rest of this trip. You’ve got a boyfriend sort of.”

“Why didn’t we ever date?”

The sigh from the other side of the car tells Yoongi almost all that he needs to know, but he still waits for more.

“Do you want to stop for food?” Hoseok asks. “Don’t answer, I’m stopping anyway.”

“Is it because I’m fucked up?”

“No, it’s not even a little bit because you’re fucked up,” Hoseok says. “It’s because you rejected the notion, and I respected that. That’s it. The end. Don’t drag up this shit just to have something else to pull into your sad spiral. You’re torturing yourself for no reason, Yoongs. I love you and I try really hard to understand you but I really don’t need you to do this to yourself. Okay?”

“Sometimes I hate you,” Yoongi sighs. “Why can’t you just let me wallow?”

“Because it gets on my goddamn nerves.”

\+ + + +

A rant about tourists and globalization sits on Yoongi’s tongue, but he swallows it back down as he pulls wading boots up over his pants. He looks to Hoseok, already starting to carefully step his way out onto the surfacing land bridge, and smiles. They’d come to see this Jindo miracle before but always managed to be too early or too late. Hoseok seems excited in a way that Yoongi really missed without even knowing he missed it.

“Should have brought a shovel,” Hoseok says once Yoongi walks closer. “And something to put them in.”

“Let’s just walk to the island,” Yoongi says. He takes Hoseok’s hand, nudges him forward so that Hoseok leads the way, weaving amid the hundreds of people stopping, taking pictures, digging for tiny clams, sauntering way too slowly for Yoongi’s liking.

It’s just under two miles to the next island and they start the walk in mostly silence. At least, Hoseok doesn’t push Yoongi into talking and instead busies himself with singing quietly as they stroll. Halfway there, the water starts to rise again, sloshing over Yoongi’s ankles.

“We should turn back,” Hoseok says. “I don’t think we’ll make the whole walk and have time to get back before the tide comes in.”

“Just a few more feet,” Yoongi says.

“Yoongi. I’m serious, I’m not walking out there.”

“Then I’ll walk alone.” Yoongi shrugs and drops Hoseok’s hand, and almost immediately Hoseok grabs his arm. “Let go.”

“No,” Hoseok says. “We’re going back. You’re not walking out there just to get stranded. Please just listen to me for once.”

A thought flies through Yoongi’s head to pull away. To take off running. To not stop even when the land under his feet falls away. But he’d done that to Hoseok once before, and he knows, somewhere quiet and small and buried beneath the self-loathing, that it’s not fair to Hoseok to do again. He nods, just once, before turning to walk toward Jindo Island again.

\+ + + +

Driving back to Seoul again so soon has zero appeal to Hoseok, tired and aching from the drive to Jindo Island. Yoongi points out that he has no desire to go back yet, either, and they find themselves at Hidden Bay Hotel. They watch tourists taking photos of the building, buy swim trunks to take advantage of the pool, sit without a word to watch the sun go down from their room’s view out over the water. The whole evening feels like the perfect escape from Yoongi’s sad, pathetic life. He finds himself smiling as Hoseok props his chin on his shoulder.

They hadn’t done this, not with just the two of them, since the first and last time when Hoseok had to put his CPR training to use. When Yoongi got it in his head that the world would most definitely be better without him. When he waded too far out into the ocean and started to go under. He’d made Hoseok promise to keep that to himself, something that’s still between just the two of them five years later. But they had lots shared between just the two of them. Hoseok’s hand in his lets those thoughts slide back to the forefront of his head. He tells himself it’s just his cycle talking and he definitely doesn’t want to sleep with Hoseok again.

It takes half a bottle of soju for Yoongi to start talking. And when he starts, he doesn’t really know how to stop. Words flood out about Jimin, his mother, his stupid perfect brother, Namjoon, even Hoseok, as if Hoseok isn’t even sitting there. They flood out, and he can’t figure out how to get them to stop or how to slosh them all back in and the rest of the bottle later, he doesn’t even care about holding them back.

Drunk and crying are a terrible combination, one Yoongi completely rebukes, so instead of crying, he starts to laugh. Every sentence finds itself punctuated with terse laughter, as if Yoongi can’t even believe he’s saying these things. Which, in reality, he can’t.

“Did you know,” Yoongi says slowly, furrowing his eyebrows as he stares at the shot glass in his hand, “alpha cum does  _not_ taste how they smell? Because it does not.”

“I did know that but thank you for reminding me,” Hoseok says while swallowing back laughter. “So you aren’t fucking but you blew him?”

“I did not blow him.” Yoongi holds up a finger matter-of-factly. “But my hand was covered and I got curious so I tasted. Not blueberries. Not even a little bit.”

“You’re really drunk,” Hoseok says, shaking his head.

“I love him,” Yoongi says. He watches Hoseok’s face lose any trace of amusement and shift into concern, then promptly ignores that by choosing to drink from the bottle rather than pour another glass. “I mean. No…I don’t love him. I  _could_ love him. I  _want_ to love him. How do I do that? How do I just…stop being me, and start being what he deserves to have? God this is stupid. Who the fuck decided emotions are a necessity? I can’t do this. How do you do this?”

“Involuntarily,” Hoseok says. His voice is soft. Sad. “Involuntarily, and stupidly.”

“Did you cry a lot? When I broke your heart?”

“I did. I cry about you a lot.” Hoseok’s smile manages to somehow look depressing. “You break my heart a lot, Min Yoongi.”

“And you keep coming back,” Yoongi says.

“I keep coming back.”

“You’re an actual idiot, you know that, don’t you?”

Hoseok lets out the laugh he’d been trying to keep in and gives his head another shake. “I’m very aware,” he says. “I’m an idiot and you’re an asshole and we’re stuck with each other forever.”

“Or!” Yoongi’s voice comes out much louder than he intended as he slaps his hands down onto Hoseok’s shoulders. “Or,” he says again with an attempt at being quiet, “you meet a nice alpha, or whoever, and you move the hell on from me, and I come to your wedding and give you a card and then we never speak again.”

“Not the ideal outcome,” Hoseok says. He tips forward some, resting his forehead against Yoongi’s, and Yoongi closes his eyes. “I’m not leaving. You know that.”

Hoseok is so close and the air smells so pleasantly like being out in the country, in a field just after a rainstorm, and Yoongi thinks maybe once more won’t hurt things. He shifts his head, ducking a bit and aligning their lips with a quiet hum. Something in him wants more, craves the way Hoseok knows just how to touch him, and he starts to move closer to straddle Hoseok’s lap.

“Okay,” Hoseok says with a nervous laugh as he leans away. “I think maybe it’s bedtime for you.”

“But I want to fuck you.”

Hoseok doesn’t look him in the eyes as he gets up. “No, you want to fuck. Huge difference. And you’re drunk, and I’m saying no to this.”

Yoongi whines, considers stomping his feet, thinks about how much it’d hurt to just collapse in a tantrum on the floor. He lifts his arms when Hoseok taps one, familiar with this ‘get drunk Yoongi into pajamas so he stops doing whatever stupid thing he’s doing’ routine. It takes Hoseok no time to put Yoongi into his pajamas, to push him toward the giant cushy bed. Yoongi flops onto it with a groan.

“I’m so hot, hyung,” he says. “It’s hot and everything hurts, just…Please?”

“No,” Hoseok says without even a hint of his resolve wavering. “I’m going to go get ice. Don’t choke to death while I’m gone, okay?”

Yoongi snores gently in response.

\+ + + +

He dreams of blueberries. Rows and rows of bushes, thousands of little ripe berries damp with fresh rainfall, the dirt around them holding such a pleasant smell that Yoongi wants to lie down and breathe it in forever. When he peels an eye open, he thinks for a second he might have just shifted into another dream. The back of Jimin’s head already feels familiar to him. He reaches over to touch the hair, then jumps as Jimin jumps too. Jimin faces him, momentarily confused but it easily slides into a smile.

“What are you doing awake?” Jimin asks. He sits his phone down between them and rests his head against his forearms to watch Yoongi.

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi counters.

“Hoseok hyung said you needed me, so I came.”

“…You drove five hours just because of that?”

“Well when you say it like that it sounds silly.” Jimin lets out a quick laugh, and Yoongi freezes when Jimin moves a hand over to carefully move hair out of Yoongi’s face. “He said you were sad. I don’t want you to be sad.”

Anxiety tramples every possible feeling of happiness at seeing Jimin beside him. He looks terrible, he’s certain, from drinking and crying and waking up well before anyone with a soju hangover ought to. And his breath, god his breath must be awful. Everything about him is a mess and he wants to get up and run off to pull himself together but Jimin keeps petting him, keeps smiling at him like he actually means something, and Yoongi feels…calm. Calm spreads, soothes the anxiety, makes him slide closer to Jimin and put an arm around Jimin’s waist. He likes the way Jimin’s chin feels atop his head.

Yoongi closes his eyes and nuzzles his face against Jimin’s chest. He’s calm and warm and maybe almost something like happy. Jimin rubbing his back, pulling him even closer, makes him feel a sense of ease he doesn’t think he’s ever really felt before. The heat, the aching, he’d felt before passing out slips away and he starts to feel like his old self. He starts to feel like he can’t ever leave Jimin’s hold.


	15. fifteen

Jostling on the bed rouses Yoongi from sleep. He groans, frowning as he opens his eyes to see Jimin jumping on the bed beside him. Jimin grins down at him, bedhead flopping about, illuminated by sunlight streaming in. It’s a nice scene to wake up to, annoyed as Yoongi may be. He grimaces as a slant of light hits his face, then grunts some while rubbing sleep from his eyes.

 

“Welcome to the world!” Jimin shouts as he bounces down onto his knees with a laugh. He leans over Yoongi, hands cupping Yoongi’s face, and stares at him long enough that Yoongi starts to squirm with discomfort. “I like your face,” he says eventually, softly, as if he’s just now coming to that realization. “You have sad eyes.”

“I have sad everything,” Yoongi says. He tries to figure out how not to blush. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Jimin smiles, his thumbs rubbing against Yoongi’s temples. “Just…taking you in. I haven’t really had a chance to just look at you. And now I have. Done!”

Jimin’s little chuckle, the quick kiss he pecks against Yoongi’s lips before letting him go and crawling off the bed, makes Yoongi’s entire being vibrate with pleasure and the sensation confuses him. He pushes himself up on his elbows, one eye squinted nearly shut thanks to the sunlight, and watches Jimin stand at the window staring out at the sea.

“You should be sleeping more,” Yoongi grumbles. “You drove all this way…”

“I’m not tired,” Jimin says.

“Well  _I’m_  still tired.”

“I want to go to Hanuneom.” Yoongi sighs and flops back against the bed. “Don’t you want to go before the sun goes down?”

“I want to sleep.” His eyes shutter closed again for a moment, until the feeling of the bed shifting makes him open them again. He smiles a bit as Jimin crawls closer, closer, and straddles him, pinning him to the bed. Their breath intertwines. Noses rub against each other. Yoongi can practically already taste Jimin. 

“If we stay here,” Jimin says slowly, “I don’t know that there’ll be much sleeping.” A smile comes across his lips and Yoongi feels it more than sees. “You and your cycle. You make this whole room smell like a lemon grove. That’s why I can’t sleep. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Oh.” And that’s it, that’s all that Yoongi can manage. He has trouble swallowing, trouble breathing, trouble doing everything but staring up at Jimin and willing him to do something, literally anything, as close as they are. Jimin’s hands play in Yoongi’s hair as if he doesn’t know anything else to do with them. “You’re like…manic or something.”

“I think it’s you,” Jimin says. “I think you’re breaking me.”

“Shut up.” The first laugh in twenty-four hours feels easy. Natural. He shifts just barely beneath Jimin and rather purposely presses his hips up against him. The gasp Jimin makes, the way he tips forward in surprise enough that their lips touch and Yoongi steals a kiss, it’s all dangerously close to being too much. “We should go to the beach like you want.”

“Well now I want to do other things,” Jimin says, moving a hand down to slide along Yoongi’s side. Yoongi hums, squeezes Jimin a little tighter between his thighs.

“No, no, we have one more day,” Yoongi says. “Beach now.” He pauses. “Where’s Hoseok?”

“He got a separate room,” Jimin says as he presses his face to Yoongi’s neck. “He looked exhausted, I didn’t want him driving in that state. Are you sure one more day?”

Yoongi, with Jimin’s hand snaking into his briefs, tickling just close enough to his member that it tingles tortuously, lets out another hum. “Sure,” he sighs, nodding.

And it seems, for a second, that neither of them has any interest in stopping, in waiting, in holding off until they’re both out from under this gigantic hormonal cloud. But Jimin, intent on not taking advantage, nods back and moves his hand away.

“Let’s go shower and bother Hoseok, then,” Jimin says as he bounces off of the bed.

\+ + + +

Hoseok does not want to be bothered. Yoongi can see it in the way his giant grin doesn’t really reach his eyes. But since Hoseok doesn’t mention them needing to leave, Yoongi doesn’t mention noticing how glum Hoseok looks. He flips through the channels on the giant flatscreen instead, head rested in Jimin’s lap.

“I’m not really feeling very beachy,” Hoseok says as he towels his hair. “I was probably just going to…relax. Just enjoy a day of doing nothing since I already took the weekend off thinking—” Yoongi turns his head to watch Hoseok and this time, the smile doesn’t even reach his mouth and dies an undignified death with a twitch of his lips. “Anyway. I have the weekend off. I may just lie in bed and read. Find a club later on and go dance. That sorta thing. But you two, you should definitely go to the beach. Just be careful.”

“It’s the beach, not the Hunger Games.” Jimin laughs. Yoongi and Hoseok don’t. “Okay…Well, we’ll be careful. We’ll bring you a shell back!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hoseok says. He moves toward his bag at the foot of the bed, damp hair falling forward. Yoongi doesn’t remember the last time he saw Hoseok shirtless and he sort of wishes he could continue saying that. A warmth curls through his stomach and he looks off again. “You two just have fun doing whatever it is you do.”

“We could do dinner tonight,” Jimin says. “That’d be fun, right? Dinner, the three of us? My treat!”

“I would genuinely rather you two just do your own thing,” Hoseok says as he slides into a clean forest green t-shirt. “Seriously, just forget that I’m even here at all. I’ll probably check out really early tomorrow—maybe even tonight—so don’t worry about me. Just keep an eye on Yoongs and I’ll consider us even.”

“You still look tired though.” Yoongi closes his eyes and tries really, really hard to think  _shut up_  loudly enough for Jimin to get the hint because Hoseok doesn’t look the least bit amused.

“C’mon.” Yoongi sits up, tapping Jimin’s thigh. “Let’s leave him alone.”

“We just got here,” Jimin says with a whine. Still, he lets Yoongi pull him along, and Yoongi sees a tiny grateful smile from Hoseok before they disappear from his room.

\+ + + +

Their sandcastle looks like the aftermath of an air raid. Clumps of wet sand plop off the sides, tumble down and cause Jimin to make annoyed little grunts as he tries to fix it. The last time Yoongi made a sandcastle, he’s pretty sure he was in the  single digits, but Jimin insisted that they try, even without any shovels or buckets or anything that might actually help. The spire Yoongi made dies unceremoniously as it crashes against his thigh.

“I don’t even think we’re supposed to be here right now,” Yoongi says while trying to reshape his side of the castle. Jimin’s focus doesn’t shift from the castle design. “We’re going to get escorted off the beach for being here during the off season.”

“By who? The beach police?”

“…Yes. Are there beach police?”

They stare at each other and Yoongi smiles, leans over their castle to brush some sand from Jimin’s cheek. Considering his hands are also covered, he just adds more sand to his face instead. Jimin laughs quietly and tries to clean his cheek off with his shoulder. 

“So…why?” Jimin says quietly. “No. Not why. That’s the wrong question.” He gives up on making his face neat and goes back to squinting and squishing sand between his fingers. “I think the right question is…Should I be worried?”

“About what?” Yoongi asks. “Oh. Um. No, it’s not—”

“Because I think we can trust each other, right?” Jimin asks. “And I know it’s…stupid, I guess, to even maybe think I should be worried, but Hoseok hyung is a good friend, and I know he’s a better friend to you, I just want to know that you asking him for help and not me…and you thinking…really loudly…about him…that I don’t need to worry.”

“Oh.”

Yoongi watches Jimin’s fingers squeeze the sand a little tighter in the quiet between them and he feels guilty for failing to say anything beyond that sad little syllable.

“You know what, doesn’t matter,” Jimin laughs. He swipes a hand and knocks the castle over. “We barely know each other in the grand scheme of things. I guess I just kind of hoped maybe you’d come to me when you’re having a hard time. I don’t know why. It’s just this feeling I get and it sounds really unreasonable to expect you to just ignore your whole support system, people that’ve been there for years, in favor of me, who’s been here for less than a month.”

“I don’t want you to see me broken,” Yoongi says. The level of honesty there makes him want to bury himself into the sand like the crab nearby, but instead he just frowns and chalks it up to the bright sun. “I didn’t…I asked him for help because I always ask him for help when I’m like this because truthfully I just kind of like how much it upsets him. Namjoon is really laid back when I have…problems…but Hoseok, I dunno, we have this weird codependency sometimes and I think he needs to worry over me and I need to make him worry and saying that out loud makes me sound like the biggest asshole on earth, Jesus fucking Christ I’m fucked up.”

“Okay…so…maybe don’t do that,” Jimin says. “Are you in love with him?”

“Do we really have to talk about this with that weird crab watching?” Yoongi asks.

“Yes,” Jimin nods.

“No. I’m not in love with him. He’s still in love with me, a little, and I guess I need that. You’re a chemist, not a shrink, what the hell even is this?”

“This is a thing called a conversation,” Jimin says. Yoongi stops squinting, stops avoiding Jimin’s face in time to see a smirk form. “People in relationships have them a lot.”

“Are we in a relationship? This is brand new information to me.”

“Stop,” Jimin says with a roll of his eyes. “I’m not picking a fight and I’m not letting you pick one either. You and me are inevitable, right? So. This is a talk we have to have. And we had it. I don’t need to be worried. You don’t need to treat Hoseok hyung—or anyone, for that matter—like shit. End.”

Yoongi’s mouth opens to say something but quickly gets filled with wet sand, Jimin tossing a handful in his direction with a laugh. Yoongi sputters, spits sand out and winds up drooling on himself, which just draws louder laughter from Jimin. The weird crab scuttles out of the way just in time to avoid being squished as Yoongi tackles Jimin, jabbing his fingers against Jimin as Jimin thrashes beneath him. Sand is everywhere and his inhales feel scratchy and gross but the more Jimin laughs, the better he feels until he manages to catch Jimin’s hands and pins them against the sand above Jimin’s head.

Something passes on Jimin’s face, something that Yoongi can’t really put a name to but all of the thoughts melting into him from Jimin are white and hot and pulsing with love and it feels like such a foreign concept that all Yoongi can do is stare back. Jimin starts a smile that Yoongi finishes, then laughs a little again.

“Next time you’re feeling like that,” Jimin says softly, “I want you to come to me.”

“Okay,” Yoongi agrees. His voice barely sounds above the breeze.


	16. sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's going up a day early because I am just SO EXCITED to share with you guys and honestly this has been A Week and I just need your nice comments to make the week less sucktastic. Get some snacks, shit's goin' down. (Heh.)

Yoongi likes the silence. The two of them haven’t said anything to each other in almost an hour, at least not aloud, and Yoongi really, really enjoys it. He likes the drag of Jimin’s fingernails against his scalp, the quiet thump of Jimin’s heartbeat as he lies curled up against him, swallowed almost entirely by the fluffy hotel bathrobe. He likes how calm just being near Jimin makes him.

Every now and then, Jimin laughs quietly at the show on television, some terrible variety show that looks more dangerous than entertaining. Yoongi tries not to fall asleep but between the scalp massage and Jimin’s scent and the coziness of the robe and the bed, he lets his eyes drift shut a few times. Sleep never comes particularly easily, not when his brain is too busy with a running tally of every way in which he fucked up for the day, but with Jimin, it almost feels normal. If he tries really hard, he can pretend he’s perfectly fine.

He nudges Jimin’s hand away from his head and turns, staring into Jimin’s eyes. There’s some confusion there, and something softer, and when Jimin smiles and moves to speak, Yoongi cuts him off with a kiss. It’s slow, and simpler than they’d been doing, and Jimin makes a tiny hum in his throat as Yoongi slides closer.

Everything Yoongi thinks and feels shifts into autopilot—the way their kiss deepens, morphs into something a little more desperate and wanting, the way Yoongi straddles Jimin’s hips, the careful but purposeful roll forward to drag a moan out of Jimin. His own quiet gasp slips out, hand slipping into Jimin’s robe, against Jimin’s growing hard-on, down along Jimin’s thighs.

Before Jimin can get both hands on Yoongi’s thighs, Yoongi steals one away, smiling some at the confusion coloring Jimin’s face and the way his mouth falls agape as Yoongi slides his tongue along Jimin's index and middle fingers. Having Jimin watch him so intensely, feeling Jimin breathe a little harder as Yoongi closes his mouth around Jimin’s fingers makes Yoongi feel heavy, maybe something like happy. He moans around Jimin’s fingers and rocks against him without much thought to it.

If he stops to think too hard, everything in his head will tell him to stop—that he’s being an idiot, that he’s not even a little bit sexy, that Jimin can’t possibly want him as much as he wants Jimin. So he doesn’t stop to think, and he doesn’t bother with using his brain at all, and he focuses on watching Jimin trying to suppress a smile as he watches Yoongi in return. He focuses on making sure nothing about his intentions remain unclear.

He slides Jimin’s fingers from his mouth, moves Jimin’s hand back behind him, under his robe, towards his entrance, and for a second, there’s resistance. Jimin hesitates. Asks the _are you sure_ question without ever opening his mouth. Smiles slightly as Yoongi gives a tiny nod. It’s been a while, longer than a while, since Yoongi felt anything against him like that, and he tries his best not to be too tense as Jimin presses in. He cants forward, grimacing, hands curled against the bedsheets on either side of Jimin’s head. But it’s only for a moment, only until it becomes a little more familiar, and when Jimin uses his other hand to give a bit more lubrication in the form of precum, Yoongi lets himself actually moan aloud.

It’s like music, the second Jimin slides into him. Like the tingling, moving feeling from a particularly good piece of music, everything warm and perfect and a little unreal. He laughs a little as Jimin slips a hand between them, adds a bit more precum to make the slide less painful. Neither of them moves, not at first. Yoongi keeps his eyes closed, head hung down near Jimin’s shoulder, and Jimin does little more than rub Yoongi’s back slowly. Quiet reassurances tickle against Yoongi’s ear, barely above a whisper, but as soon as Yoongi moves, works his hips in a tight circle, Jimin takes the hint and pulls out, almost completely, before pushing back in.

He wants Jimin to go faster. He wants faster, harder, _more_ , but all that comes out of his mouth is a quiet choking sob, pressing back against Jimin. He shifts his head, aligned with Jimin’s, kisses him with an urgency that he hopes translates to what he wants Jimin’s hips to do. And he laughs quietly against Jimin’s mouth as Jimin speeds up. The way Jimin digs his nails into Yoongi’s hips makes Yoongi damn near cry.

He pulls back from their kiss, sitting up straighter, and presses his hands to Jimin’s chest as he starts to try and set the pace himself. Eventually, Jimin doesn’t move his hips as much, content to just look up and watch Yoongi pleasing himself above him. Yoongi grips the lapel of Jimin’s robe for leverage, sliding forward and back, working his hips in circles, lifting just barely and slamming himself back down. It takes him a moment to realize the moans, the pants, the desperate little mewls filling the room are his own.

When he opens his eyes and looks down, it startles him some to see Jimin watching him so intently, so…lovingly. Startles him enough to stop moving for a moment. He tries to catch his breath but decides kissing Jimin is far more important than that. Jimin bites him, just slightly, against his lower lip, and Yoongi finds his head swimming.

He doesn’t anticipate Jimin rolling them over so easily, starting to fuck into him so forcefully, all while maintaining their kiss. He wraps his legs around Jimin’s waist and his nails dig into the cotton sleeves of the robe and he thinks very briefly that he’d like this forever. Forever gives Jimin pause, and Yoongi almost panics before seeing Jimin smile at him. Jimin kisses him lightly, kisses his cheeks some and when their lips come together again Yoongi tastes salt and tries not to be embarrassed about tears he hadn’t realized were even there.

They don’t come together. Considering his cycle, Yoongi feels a little proud he doesn’t come too quickly. But Jimin slides a hand between them, gives barely half a stroke, and Yoongi lets out another cry. Jimin laughs quietly, licks his way back into Yoongi’s mouth, gives a few shallow, uneven thrusts before coming inside of him with a quiet whimper.

Yoongi smiles at how boneless Jimin feels atop him. He reaches a hand to stroke against the back of Jimin’s thigh. “You didn’t stop me,” he says with a laugh.

“You didn’t stop _me_ ,” Jimin says.

“Yeah…well.” He sniffles some and his heart skips as Jimin kisses his cheeks again. “Probably should’ve done this _before_ the shower.”

“Well water hasn’t gone extinct. We can shower again.”

Yoongi nods, lets his thigh drop against the mattress for a moment before kissing Jimin again. “One more time first.”

\+ + + +

The entire ride back to Seoul, Yoongi feels himself feeling worse and worse the closer they get. He doesn’t kiss Jimin goodbye.

Licorice Killer seems only marginally pleased to see Yoongi, and he picks her up from the floor to stop her from continuing to destroy a pair of headphones. He sits her on his shoulder, then makes his way toward the kitchen to grab some water.

His phone, turned off for the entirety of the weekend, has an assortment of concerned texts, a few voicemails, and none of them appealed to Yoongi at all. Still, he sends a text to let Namjoon know he’s still alive, and one to his mother to inform her of the same. It’s surprising, then, that he hears her text tone, some ‘80s British synth pop tune, faintly from her bedroom. As a test, he texts her again, standing outside her bedroom door, and listens as the text alert is a little louder. He sighs, then knocks.

“Hey,” he calls as he tilts his head into the room.

He doesn’t know what he expects to see, really, but a small part of him prepares to panic, prepares to call Namjoon for help, prepares mental funeral arrangements. She lies on her bed, or at least he assumes that it’s her—it’s not much more than a blanketed mass with occasional breaths. But breaths nonetheless, and so he dials down the potential panic.

“Hey,” he says again as he nudges the blanket. She sits up with a jolt, which startles him into stumbling backwards. He winces as Licorice Killer digs her sharp kitten claws into his neck for leverage.

“Yoongi,” Mrs. Min says sleepily. She smiles at him with half-closed eyes. “You’re home.”

“Yeah. You’re not at work. Again.”

“I wasn’t feeling w—”

“Maybe you should go to a doctor then,” Yoongi says. It’s weird to him how small she looks.

She shakes her head gently, reaches a hand up to try and smooth her bedhead down. “I’m okay,” she says.

“Stop,” he says. His fists clench for a moment and he tries to calm himself down. “That’s not fair. You don’t get to say you’re okay when you’re not if I’m not allowed the same.” Her face falls some, and he can hear a little Jimin-esque voice in his head. _Don_ _’t treat people like shit_. “Look, you hungry or whatever? I’ll make dinner. If you promise to go see Dr. Kim yourself.”

“Yoongi…”

Her shoulders sink. She slumps forward a bit, and her hands do a piss-poor job of covering her sniffling as she hides her face. He sighs again and climbs into the bed with her, plunking the cat down in her lap. The quiet sniffling makes him feel infinitely awkward, and he tenses as her arm drapes over his waist.

“Do you know that when you were very small,” she speaks after a stretch of silence, “you would sleep with me, just like this, because you thought I might squish the baby. So you’d squeeze your way between Jeongguk and I, and you’d hold him and sing little songs you made up for us, and I think about that every single night.” He grunts slightly but doesn’t move away as she moves her head against his back. “And then when you were bigger, when the baby was old enough to sleep with you, you’d bring him in to me anyway. But with a different excuse every time. Once you told me that Jeonggukkie was scared of the shadows. And another time you said, ‘Mama, there are things that I don’t know I should be afraid of so I need you.’”

“I am really uncomfortable right now.”

“I’m sorry.” She sniffles a bit more. “Do you still think I’m broken?”

The answer is yes. Every part of her seems out of sorts and Yoongi doesn’t know how or if they can be pieced together again. He thinks, for a second, that maybe his own problems are making her so tired and sad and full of secret tears that she doesn’t think the boys hear. He thinks, for a second, that she wouldn’t be quite so broken if he weren’t irrevocably flawed.

“I think we can be fixed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY RIGHT?! ARE YOU HAPPY? BECAUSE I'M HAPPY. Also - can we talk about how I might be psychic? Because I've had the first part of this chapter written for weeks and then BOOM that v broadcast has Yoongi in a white bathrobe and I was like O_O what have I done. But also um. Hold on to this feeling, and remember it for next week, because...you're gonna go back to wanting to karate chop me in the throat. Or worse. That's your warning.


	17. seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're at the chapter that requires all the warnings. I'm deadly serious here, please just skip this chapter if you're especially sensitive to mentions of suicide. This chapter contains an attempt, and I'm spoiling things a bit but you know what, I'd rather spoil and spare someone the panic that comes with being triggered than not spoil and leave someone in distress. It's not graphic at all, but that doesn't much matter right? 
> 
> Please please please if you don't think you can bring yourself to read such a thing--don't. You can absolutely message me and I'll just summarize the chapter for you. There are three sections of this chapter and everything that could be triggering is contained to the middle section, so you can potentially read 2/3 of the chapter if you really want. And I promise, after this, not another attempt will ever come up. This is a turning point, really. It's all on the up and up from here.
> 
> I hope everyone had a lovely holiday season and no one was too terribly lonely. I love you all for sticking with this rollercoaster of emotion and sharing all your brilliant opinions with me.

Lunch is fried chicken on Monday. Yoongi buys enough to feed all three of them, so it’s a little awkward to get to the table and see Seokjin already there. With Jia. In Yoongi’s usual seat. Yoongi tries not to be too weird about feeling uncomfortable sitting on Jia’s left rather than her right, but he can feel himself frowning anyway. Which, he thinks, is kind of a shame considering five minutes ago, he’d greeted Jimin with the widest smile he’s ever smiled in his life. He picks at his chicken wordlessly.

“Namjoon says you guys went to Jindo?” Jia asks.

“Mm,” Yoongi nods.

“It was really nice!” Jimin says, and Yoongi is grateful that at least one of them is effervescent. “Well. Yeosu was nice. I didn’t go to the island with them. The hotel was really fancy. Hoseok hyung was nice enough to pay for a night but I insisted on paying the second night since he got his own separate room. And we went to the heart beach!”

Jia clicks her tongue and gives Jimin a wistful look. “Aww, I’ve always wanted to go there,” she says, hands clasped at her heart. Yoongi tries not to laugh very loudly but her lovesick face is kind of adorable. “I think every couple should go at least once.”

“I could take you,” Seokjin says. Yoongi stares at him, and Seokjin gives a slight shrug. “I mean. The three of us…could go. If you wanted.”

“I would like that,” Jia says with a smile. “But only if you want.”

“This is so gross,” Yoongi mumbles, which earns him a smack to the arm from Jia despite her laughing. He finally decides to take a bite of his food, chewing for a bit before speaking again once there’s a lull in the others’ conversation about beaches. “Did you talk to Hyojin this weekend?”

“Um…No, not really.” Yoongi isn’t particularly convinced by the way Jia seems to be skirting around a real answer. “I think she’s been busy.”

“Busy,” Seokjin echoes with a nod. “Hey, how are the meals I made you? Do they taste okay?”

“Just fine,” Yoongi mutters, though he’s not paying much attention. He does his best to text with one hand beneath the table, squinting a little to see what he’s doing and honestly just making it more obvious than he’d like to. 

Everything ok with you? I’m sorry about what I said.  
 **12:33**

His focus is on the phone completely, squeezing it now and then to see if it vibrates with a text notification. He barely even reacts to Jimin touching his knee, though he does manage to stop tensing as much with that little gesture. Lunch wraps up, Jia and Jimin go back to work, Seokjin walks Yoongi to his train station, and Hyojin still doesn’t text back.

He sends three more texts—another apology, an inquiry about if she’s angry, questioning whether or not she’s still alive—and those go unanswered as well. He tells Namjoon to stop texting him for the afternoon, growing too anxious with the phone vibrating with a message from Namjoon and not Hyojin. He considers calling instead of texting just to see if maybe she’s just not getting any texts. But instead, he heads across the city to her apartment.

A large part of him feels ridiculous with trying to track her down this way. But he reminds himself that he’s only checking to make sure she hasn’t slipped in the shower and died unnoticed. His thumb runs along the spare key she’d given him as a just-in-case.

The key goes unused as Hyojin opens her front door—at least partially. The second she registers Yoongi on the other side, she starts to slam the door. His hand slaps against the door to stop it from shutting, but all he winds up doing is hurting his wrist.

“God…dammit!” he yells, folding over for a moment and gripping his wrist. Dramas make that move look so much simpler. He stands straight again and knocks with his uninjured hand. “Hyojin, seriously. I’m sorry!” From the other side of the door, loud, decidedly angry music starts to play. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, pulls out his keys, squeezes her spare key between his fingers for a moment.

It makes a sad little plink as he drops it to the ground and slides it under the door with his boot.

\+ + + +

It’s not the words so much that hurt—it’s the fact that she blocked him.

Yoongi is fine—perfectly fucking fine—with a passive-aggressive snipe at him. At least, he’s fairly certain it’s at him. _And are you thinking of me when you fuck him?_ The answer is no. Not even a little bit, and Yoongi thinks it’s ridiculous to even post a thing like that, and he logs into his Twitter account to tell Hyojin just that. But when he logs in, everything disappears. Nothing left but a really cold, really detached mention of being blocked.

He stares at his phone for the longest, trying to figure out if maybe it’s some kind of mistake. And he texts her once, twice, six times. No response. He texts Jia to ask her to message Hyojin, to not mention anything about him being the one wanting some contact, to ask her about something completely innocuous. His insides burn a little when Jia says Hyojin texted back immediately.

His pill alarm goes off and he realizes he’s lost a solid three hours with no idea where they went or how they left so stealthily. For a moment, he does nothing more than stare at the pills he’s shaken out in his hand. It would be easy, really really easy, to skip taking them both, to become one of the so-called wild, not taking any suppressants and just letting himself be, crazy brain and all. Maybe feeling everything would be better than feeling everything at a dull, throbbing fifty percent. But he thinks about Jimin and his attempts to make even better suppressant and how he probably wouldn’t want a boyfriend who didn’t take them, and so he swallows that pill like a good little member of society. It’s the antidepressant that continues to give him pause.

The bottle, a month’s supply, has twenty-six pills left. Not that he counted daily, but he recalls which date he’d gotten a refill if only because it marked a whole month of knowing Jimin, and after getting his prescription, having the now-routine lunch with Jia, Seokjin, and Jimin, going home for a quick nap, he’d gone to Jimin’s for dinner and a movie and wound up falling asleep against Jimin’s lap. He shakes his bottle lightly, sighs some, opens the top and dumps all of the pills out on top of the kitchen island. Twenty-six pills, and he thinks about how many it would take to not have to worry about being ignored anymore. Ten, maybe, considering the alarmingly high dosage. Maybe not even that.

Seventeen out of twenty-six wind up slipping easily down his throat, right into his mostly-empty stomach, and number eighteen is in between his fingers but a sudden jerk of his hand makes him drop it. He grimaces. Stoops to pick it up before Licorice Killer can sneak it into her mouth. His balance shifts, vision a bit blurry, and his shoulder knocks against the island with a crack that Yoongi thinks might mean dislocation but he’s not entirely sure. He lies still for a while and isn’t quite sure if it’s tears or pills that make it hard to see. He wants to be angry at the cat for coming closer, for licking at the salty tears on his cheeks, but instead he lets out a quick little laugh because for some reason, it’s absolutely hilarious that the last kiss he’ll ever get is probably going to be from a cat he didn’t even want.

Something in that thought feels wrong, though. Or maybe everything in it. He hadn’t really meant to do this…again…Had no intention of leaving Jimin or putting himself in a position where Jeongguk could come home and find him cold on the kitchen floor or _fuck_ what if Killer finally learns how to jump high enough to eat the rest of the pills on the island fuck fuck fuck.

He can’t quite see well enough to know if he’s even pressing the right buttons on the phone. Has zero idea if the words he’s vomiting up even make sense. Feels absolutely fucking terrible that it’s just a few seconds later that it becomes actual vomit, warm and disgusting and full of half-dissolved little white pills and suddenly he’s sobbing harder than he ever has before, trying to recite his address to the emergency operator, holding the phone with one hand and attempting to keep the cat out of his puke with the other and everything’s a mess and he’s fucked up yet again and he hadn’t even heard the front door open but there’s Jeongguk, or at least the vague shape of Jeongguk, yelling in his high panicky voice and slapping at Yoongi’s cheeks. Yoongi thinks he’s spent most of Jeongguk’s whole life apologizing to him. He manages to get out one last _I’m sorry_ before everything goes black.

\+ + + +

“I swear to Christ, Min Yoongi, if I see you in here one more time…”

Hoseok looks tired. His eyes rimmed red, hair an absolute mess. He’s still in his scrubs and Yoongi feels ten times more guilty that Hoseok hadn’t even gotten time to change after his shift before having to come right back. Because of him. Because he’s an idiot. But Hoseok doesn’t call him that, and Yoongi thinks maybe it’s not even something Hoseok thinks. He tries to smile as Hoseok threads fingers through Yoongi’s hair.

“Sorry,” Yoongi says hoarsely, and he’s so patently sick of apologizing and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough. He doesn’t mean to, but he leans into Hoseok’s hand to get something maybe sort of close to stability.

“Mm. You should’ve called me if you were feeling like you wanted to vacate the premises again.”

“Well I didn’t really know I felt like that until half the pills were in me,” Yoongi says. “I didn’t think. It was an acc—”

“Don’t. Please. Not this time.” Extra shame rolls in to envelope the mountain of shame already in Yoongi. “God, I’m just glad no one told me until I was off. I would’ve gotten fired for abandoning my patients.”

“I’m not worth getting fired over, Hoseok,” Yoongi says, and he winces some as Hoseok tugs his hair just a little too hard. “What the fuck, I’m injured and you’re hurting me?”

“I’m honestly not in the mood for that kind of talk,” Hoseok says. “So. Cut it the fuck out.” Yoongi sighs, nods, keeps his damn mouth shut. “How’s Seulgi treating you? Good? Do I need to yell at her? As charge nurse I have that kind of authority.”

“No,” Yoongi says quietly. He watches Jeongguk hover in the doorway, clearly debating coming in or not. “She’s been nice. Brought me extra Jell-O.”

“Good,” Hoseok says and the smile that comes with it almost has its usual spark.

“Hyung?” Jeongguk says in a stage whisper. “Jimin…”

“No.” It’s louder this time. Firmer. He almost feels bad that Jeongguk looks so startled by it. “Tell him to go home.”

“Oh. Um…” Jeongguk hesitates. Scratches his neck a moment before disappearing back into the hall.

There are a blissful three seconds before, “Min Yoongi, don’t do this.”

“I don’t want him to see me like this,” Yoongi frowns. “Not ever.”

“I’m going to yell at you,” Hoseok says, “but not right now. I’ll wait twenty-four hours, and then I’m not holding back.”

“Noted,” Yoongi says. His hands pull at the thread of the thermal blanket over him. “I’m going to go back. I mean. Not to the same place…to a different one. I know I have to go for a while because of…this…but I’m just going to stay for a while. I don’t…I don’t think I was ready to be out again.”

Something about the sag of Hoseok’s shoulders at that make Yoongi think maybe it’s a bad idea. But instead of some disappointed lecture, he startles as Hoseok hugs him. _Really_ hugs him. He can’t remember the last time he’d felt that. He remembers all too clearly the last time he hugged back.


	18. eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaat a double update?! MERRY CHRISTMAS MY LOVELIES! I really couldn't bear the thought of leaving you guys hanging for an extra week. Especially not on Christmas. And this means you guys get a pretty great chapter for the new year! Awwww yiss.

Greystone Riggs holds a familiarity that Yoongi finds distressing. And comforting. And completely foreign to him. Too many emotions vie for top slot and it makes his head dizzy. Or maybe it’s the altitude. The facility tucks into a mountain, about three hours away from Seoul, highly recommended by Dr. Kim. Three hours from everyone and everything that he loves. For six whole months. Yoongi wants to cry with how much he already misses Jimin. Wants to cry at how scary it is that Jimin is the first person he thinks of missing.

The contrast between Greystone Riggs and Trailwinds fascinates him, at least, enough that for a second he doesn’t think about being terrified. Everything is warm here. Like a hug from a favorite person. Clothes fresh from the dryer. The anticipation that comes with first snowflakes in winter. The director of the hospital personally shows Yoongi around the grounds. He has his own mini team of care specialists. He’s not required to participate in group sessions for now if he doesn’t want.

When he gets to his room for the night, his roommate is already there, slumped on his side on the bed farthest from the door in a position that has Yoongi wondering if he’s still breathing.  Even curled up it looks as if he might be far too long for the bed. His silver hair flops in several directions, partially splayed against the mattress. That side of the room is fairly neat, clothes folded and stacked on a desk chair, posters for various American artists hung up with tape. Yoongi notices a laptop and wonders when he’ll be able to use his own. Or at least get his phone back.

He clears his throat more loudly than necessary, just to test if this guy is in fact awake. He doesn’t stir. So Yoongi simply unpacks quietly, shoving some clothes into his dresser and wondering if he might be able to get a calendar from someone since he’d forgotten to buy one; he wants to mark the days as they slip by and see with some tangibility when he gets to leave.

“Welcome to institutional living.” Yoongi jumps, drops the sweater in his hands, stares at the other side of the room and still sees no sign of life but the voice is deep and real and definitely coming from the body on the bed. “For English, press 1. For Korean, press 2. For other, press 3.”

“…Two?” Yoongi says.

“Good choice, I don’t know English,” comes the reply. “Two rules—don’t touch my stuff and don’t wake me up unless you’re on fire.” A pause. “Three rules. Third rule, don’t be on fire.”

“I’ll…try really hard not to be on fire.” Yoongi laughs quietly to himself and goes back to folding up his sweater.

There’s a stretch of silence before the talking starts up again. “I hope you’re not a klepto. The last one was a klepto. Hence rule one.”

“I’m not,” Yoongi says.

“Great.” When he sits up, Yoongi tries not to stare. His hair looks like he’s been blown through several waterless tsunamis and he keeps his right eye squinted shut, bags beneath both eyes that have Yoongi wondering if this guy ever sleeps at all. And he has no idea why there’s any pouting, or if that’s just his default face, but it’s almost kind of cute. The giant ears and their gentle curve don’t help. “Park Chanyeol.”

“Min Yoongi.”

The second Chanyeol smiles, showcasing approximately six hundred stark-white teeth, Yoongi feels himself smile back. This kid’s clearly some kind of magic.

“The last one didn’t like me very much,” Chanyeol says, “so I hope you and I can get along.”

“Sure,” Yoongi nods. 

He wants very badly to ask why Chanyeol is here, but that would open himself up to the same question and he’d rather swallow the shirt he’s folding than talk about it with a random stranger. It doesn’t take very long to unpack his clothes, and when that’s done, he crawls onto the bed. Cushier than he’d anticipated, but still not even close to home. His eyes close, hands clasped together beneath his head. Three hours between him and Jimin and he wonders if that’s too far for Jimin to pick up what he’s thinking.

_I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry._

\+ + + +

The morning brings more information about Chanyeol than Yoongi ever needs to have—he’s an omega, he makes music, he’s been at Greystone Riggs for five weeks and has another seven weeks left, he really likes hats, he has a girlfriend back in Seoul that he misses very much, his scenting doesn’t work very well so most of the time he has no idea what someone else’s designation is without asking, he smells like cedar and a touch of sweetness. Chanyeol talks so much that it seems like maybe he’s afraid of silence, and Yoongi is never more relieved to be called away to talk to a shrink than he is just after lunch, in the middle of Chanyeol telling a story about a field trip gone awry.

Dr. Kim doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t look disappointed or guilt-filled or anything other than just genuinely happy to see Yoongi. That unnerves Yoongi a lot more than he’d care to admit.

“If you didn’t like my office, we could’ve just met elsewhere without such an extreme,” Dr. Kim jokes. Yoongi’s mouth barely twitches. “So. New facility. How’s it going?”

“I literally just got here,” Yoongi says.

“I came because the facility asked me to,” Dr. Kim says, adjusting his glasses. “To determine whether or not you could safely leave my care and receive treatment solely from psychiatrists on duty here. Or if there was the need for a joint treatment plan. We had one session, and honestly I think you’d be fine transferring to another doctor’s care. But I wanted to personally ask you what you thought.”

Yoongi frowns some. “We didn’t even get anywhere,” he says.

Dr. Kim smiles. “No, not really,” he says. “Which is why I’m confident you’d be fine without me. But truthfully, Yoongi, I kind of like you. You’re punchy. And I think you like me a little. But just say the word and I’ll discuss with the staff here.”

“It’s a long drive,” Yoongi mumbles.

“It is.”

“You’d do that just for me?”

“Well it’s only once a week with me; the staff here would get instructions about the rest of the time. I’ve driven farther for less important things.”

The idea of being important to someone feels foreign to Yoongi and his frown deepens. He shifts in his seat, fidgeting and fumbling with the edges of his oversized sweater, then shrugs. “I guess I don’t hate you,” he says.

“I’m taking that as a very high compliment coming from you.”

\+ + + +

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Chanyeol asks in a whisper, as if any louder might make Yoongi angry or something.

Yoongi looks over at him. There hadn’t been noise for a while and he’d almost drifted off to sleep, so part of him wanted to throw something at Chanyeol for interrupting that.

“No,” Yoongi says. And he wants that to be the end of the conversation, but if he was going to spend the next seven weeks with this guy, may as well try not to be an overly hostile jerk. “I have a boyfriend, though.”

“Oh.” And it comes out like a song, interest piqued. “How long have you been together?”

“Um…I dunno,” Yoongi laughs a little. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got nothing but time.”

The ease of sharing something like this is lost on Yoongi, and he tries to think of how exactly to word everything about Jimin without revealing a ton about himself. He settles on mentioning casual dating, and nothing really official until recently. He hears Chanyeol laugh a little and wishes he could just move to a solo room to keep from letting someone else in.

“Is your boyfriend an alpha?”

“Yep.”

“Ah, so’s my girlfriend,” Chanyeol says. “She’s pretty great. You’ll probably get to meet her.” The room grows quiet again for a few seconds. “The bathrooms here, there’s not really a ton of privacy there. So…I mean. We’re in here for a pretty long time.” Yoongi groans quietly as soon as it’s clear where this is going. “I mean not to get in your business—you seem like a super private person. Just. If things happen…if you need private time…you can just say so and I’ll make myself scarce. Like…I dunno, bandanna. You just say bandanna and I’ll let you have time. And if I say it, same for me. Okay?”

“Ugh.”

“I don’t know if that’s yes or no.”

“…Fine, whatever.”

“Okay great!” It pisses Yoongi off a little to know that Chanyeol is probably grinning that stupid grin over there. “Glad we got that out of the way.”

“Are you always so cheerful?” Yoongi asks.

“Pretty much yes,” Chanyeol says. “We’re like opposites! But that’s fine. We’ll be good friends before I leave. I can feel it in my gut.”

“Your gut has lied to you.”

“Nope. Never has before.”

\+ + + +

A week passes. He learns the third stall in the bathroom on their floor floods if too many people use it. He learns there’s a blind spot in the security cameras that’s become the secret makeout spot for patients. He learns you can sometimes get two desserts from the cafeteria if you ask the right staffer. He learns where the cycle rooms are and which of them everyone clamors to get into for maximum comfort and privacy. He learns a week without Jimin—no talking, no texting, no visiting—physically hurts.

Two weeks pass and he wants to check himself out, go back home, continue to be crazy in peace because at least Jimin would be there. He hates himself a little for it, for feeling so needy and clingy and obsessive over someone he only barely knows. But really, without having to try very hard, he feels like he knows everything about Jimin and he loves every bit. Or, very very strongly likes.

He finds himself tolerating—but definitely not enjoying—late-night talks with Chanyeol and discovers they both have passions for music and photography. Chanyeol explains that he’d taken all the photos of his girlfriend that he has around his side of the room. He talks about the digital SLR his parents bought him for his birthday and they speak about their favorite brands. Yoongi asks Chanyeol for a few pointers and Chanyeol makes faces like he’d won the lottery.

When Joy comes to visit, Yoongi keeps away from their room for the entire time; he hadn’t said as much but Chanyeol managed to make their entire room smell like a forest and he’d been sweating even with the window open, so Yoongi assumes this visit is very much conjugal. It gives him time to explore the rest of the facility, though he takes care not to really interact with other patients; befriending Chanyeol is enough. Chanyeol, who very likely is defiling his bed and Yoongi hopes like hell they keep things contained to that side of the room. Disgust gives way to envy after walking around for almost an hour and he makes calculations in his head about the earliest possible time Jimin can visit him.

By week three, he uses his first bandanna request. He’s lonely and aggravated and drained from having to talk about stupid shitty feelings in front of a whole group of people and all he wants is Jimin. So he settles for just imagining him. The curve of his lips, how bright his eyes are whenever they talk about silly unimportant things, the strength Yoongi can feel in Jimin’s touch. He feels absolutely ridiculous bursting into tears as soon as he comes.


	19. nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all had a very happy new year! Now for a tiny bit of a bummer--after this chapter, things are going on a semi-hiatus. I've gotta help a friend out with some stuff this month, and I may not have much time at all to write, let alone maintain the regular updating schedule. I'm sorry. :( But I'll be writing when I can and updating when I can and hopefully I can at least get another chapter or two this month. Maybe. Fingers crossed. But hey at least I'm pausing things on a bang, right? (Heh. Get it. Because there's sex in this chapter.)

It had been a mistake to fuck Jimin before being completely off his cycle because now, as it turns out, his body seems to expect it. He’s half relieved, half completely terrified about getting special permission from Dr. Kim to use one of the cycle rooms for Jimin’s first visit—it’s been two days and his skin feels like a loose collection of pins and his stomach won’t stop hurting and all the sweating is probably not a good look at all. He’d tried to make himself not look as shitty as he feels for Jimin’s arrival but he doesn’t think he succeeded.

Visitation starts at 16:00, and it’s 15:59 and Yoongi can’t stop bouncing his leg. He doesn’t know if Jimin will come. He doesn’t know if Jimin will come right at the start of visitation. He doesn’t know if he deserves to have Jimin come. A girl from Friday group pretty much immediately clings to a really tall guy that Yoongi pegs as an alpha—he’d seen the mark on her neck the week before. A few more people trickle in, none of them Jimin, and panic starts to set in. What if Dr. Kim forgot to tell Jimin when to show? What if Jimin’s stuck in traffic and misses visitation period? Can he really make it through one more night with just his hand and an extended bandanna request? Everything aches at the thought.

At 16:07, Yoongi very nearly gives himself a concussion tripping over his own feet. Not even fifty feet away, he can see Jimin signing in, speaking with the nurse on reception duty, affixing a visitor badge to his sweater—black and loosely-knit and covered in white stars. Yoongi almost runs right for the door before remembering that’s definitely not allowed and he’d probably be tackled by an orderly or something. Instead, he stands and fidgets and watches Jimin smiling and nodding and laughing. The nurse can’t seem to resist Jimin’s smile, either.

A whole month without Jimin and it’s almost like seeing him for the first time all over again. The blueberry muffin scent overwhelms and Yoongi feels himself wobbling a bit where he stands; Jimin hasn’t even left guest check-in and Yoongi already sniffs him out. His hair is darker now, closer to black, and Yoongi isn’t sure how to feel about that but the second Jimin turns toward the door, locks eyes right with him, all he can feel is love.

The glass doors slide open just as Jimin lifts his hands to wave with both of them and Yoongi’s never seen Jimin smile so wide. It strikes him that Jimin’s wrists are practically covered in maskers and yet he still smells him; he tries not to think about what that probably means and focuses solely on Jimin getting closer and closer and closer until—

“My hedgie, you look so good!” Jimin says against Yoongi’s ear, holding him tightly and rocking in place gently. Yoongi only hesitates for a few seconds before hugging back just as hard. “I missed you so much.”

“I can come home,” Yoongi says and he thinks he could live with his face pressed to the crook of Jimin’s neck forever.

“No, no, stay,” Jimin tells him. “Stay, get better, and then come home. I’ll just come visit as much as I can, okay? At least once a week.”

“I’m sorry.” He can’t say it much louder—or rather, he’s afraid to. “I’m sorry I did it, I’m sorry I didn’t call you, I’m sorry for turning you away. Please don’t hate me.”

“What?” Jimin laughs a little and his hand moves to massage the back of Yoongi’s head. “When did I ever—Yoongi, I don’t hate you. I get it. It’s okay, I’m not upset. I’m just glad you’re still with me. Okay? Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.” Jimin shifts, nudges Yoongi’s head up. He smiles and uses his thumbs to wipe Yoongi’s cheeks with a quiet smile. “Oh.”

“Uh huh.”

A laugh of embarrassment puffs out of Yoongi, and he sniffles and lets Jimin go to take hold of his hand. “C’mon, we got room three.”

Room three has the nicest bed, according to the residents of his floor. And when Yoongi sits on it, he’s inclined to agree. But it feels weird to be in there, to know that the only thing that happens in this room—in all six of the cycle rooms on his floor—is fucking. A lot of fucking. There’s a TV, and a nightstand with a lamp and, upon opening the drawers, an assortment of condoms in various sizes and lubes in various formulas and flavors. It feels kind of gross. Clinical. A tiny bit thrilling.

“So tell me everything!” Jimin says as he flops back against the bed. “God, I’ve missed you so much. I’m so glad to be able to s—”

It’s rude, Yoongi knows, to be so dismissive of conversation attempts. But he’s hot and he hurts and he’s already hard enough that it’s painful and Jimin smells so good…Manners don’t matter at all when he just wants to make this desperate feeling stop. Jimin doesn’t seem to mind, considering he doesn’t shove Yoongi away from kissing him so roughly.

The last time they’d kissed has been filled with such tenderness and care and the complete opposite of this. Yoongi bites against Jimin’s lip, along his jaw, down his throat until he stops to suck a bruise against Jimin’s collarbone. His hips already rock against Jimin and he leans dangerously close to coming right in his pants until Jimin cups his hands against his ass, stilling him. A whine escapes Yoongi and he presses his tongue to Jimin’s skin, then sits up straight again and tosses his shirt aside.

“Do it,” Yoongi says, and when he’s met with nothing but confusion on Jimin’s face, he elaborates. “Claim me.”

“Oh. Yoongi…” Uncertainty replaces confusion, and Jimin lets out a short laugh as he pushes himself up on his elbows. “You don’t really want that.”

“I do. I really really do. Please? You want to, right?” He leans in to try and persuade Jimin with kisses, dotting them along Jimin’s neck and pressing his hips down more against Jimin’s hardness.

Jimin shivers. “I do but not…here,” he says quietly and Yoongi enjoys how breathless he is. “You don’t want me to do that here, and you don’t want it now. We can wait til—fuck, okay…no, shit, no we’ll wait til you’re back home.”

“Fine, then fuck me.”

Their mouths melt together again, a quiet laugh buried in Jimin’s throat. His grip on Yoongi’s hair gives Yoongi butterflies and goosebumps and every other gross touchy-feely thing that he wants to dismiss but secretly wants more of. Jimin’s other hand works at Yoongi’s fly and Yoongi can barely stand all the fumbling, the quick presses of Jimin’s knuckles against him. He swats Jimin’s hand away and pulls the starry sweater off, then undoes his pants and immediately reaches to do the same to Jimin’s.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait—”

“Jesus Christ, _no_ , I do not want to wait,” Yoongi groans. “I’ve been trying not to claw my skin off for like three days, I need this. You need to give me this. It’s fine. I swear on everything holy it’s fine and I don’t want to have this conversation again for the rest of our lives.”

Yoongi ignores the stupid goofy grin Jimin has at that, concentrating more on getting Jimin out of his pants and into him. He blames the heat in his cheeks on his cycle. Jimin takes hold of Yoongi’s wrist and pulls him into another kiss, and Yoongi relaxes. The tight knot of embarrassment unravels and he strips Jimin’s pants, his own pants, stretches over Jimin toward the nightstand for the condoms and lube. Jimin’s teeth against his side make him yelp.

“What the fuck,” he laughs a little, solely because Jimin has devolved into nothing more than giggles. “Don’t.”

“Don’t put your naked torso in my face, then,” Jimin says.

“I’m breaking up with you,” Yoongi mumbles.

“So you’re finally admitting we’re a thing, then?”

“God I wish this room came with a gag or something.”

“You would like that.” Jimin laughs more and Yoongi can almost hear the blood temporarily redirecting from his dick to rush to his ears.

There’s no witty retort for that, nothing Yoongi can say that doesn’t incriminate himself, and so he opts to catch Jimin’s mouth against his own again instead. He pretends they’re just in another hotel and not a designated fucking room in a mental facility as he bites down against Jimin’s lip the second he feels Jimin’s slippery fingers against him. His jerking just makes Jimin jerk a little too and the thought that Jimin is just as eager makes Yoongi feel even warmer.

“I missed you so much,” Jimin mutters against Yoongi’s mouth just before adding a third finger, and Yoongi kisses harder in response, hand sliding down to tease along Jimin’s length.

It feels right, even in such strange circumstances. He easily ignores the staff barely fifty feet away, or the fact that they won’t get to be with each other in a more normal setting until fall. All of it is inconsequential and all that matters is Jimin. He gives a too-hard squeeze before slipping the condom on to Jimin, eyes locking for a second before Yoongi gives a quiet nod.

The rooms are soundproof, and Yoongi is certainly grateful because he hadn’t intended to swear quite so loudly the second he feels Jimin sliding into him. Jimin quiets a laugh against Yoongi’s shoulder but when that doesn’t work well enough, he turns to Yoongi’s lips instead, dancing his tongue against Yoongi’s to keep them both quiet. He stays motionless for a while, adjusting to the stretch of Jimin in him, how good and right and instantly calming it feels, and he moves to wrap his arms around Jimin’s neck.

Jimin slides his hands up from Yoongi’s thighs to give his back some reassuring rubs, and Yoongi smiles a little against Jimin’s shoulder. He doesn’t even really need to move, he thinks; just staying like this stops all the heat and the nausea and the itching just beneath his skin. It’s a drug, he’s certain, and he almost comes to terms with what that means. Almost.

His hips snap once, twice experimentally after a few beats and Jimin tenses beneath him. He smiles some before moving to lick into Jimin’s mouth again with a slow grind against him. “Fuck me,” he mumbles as he starts to move more rhythmically. “Hard. Now.”

“Yeah,” Jimin sighs, nodding briefly before bouncing Yoongi against his hips.

There’s hardly any space between them but even with such shallow thrusts, Yoongi feels it all. From the angle, Jimin perfectly drags against his prostate and he curls his fingers to dig into Jimin’s back. It isn’t quite enough for Jimin, though, and Yoongi gasps as Jimin grabs his hips to lift him off a bit more, slamming him back down with grunts that make Yoongi shiver all over. He hears his own breathy mantra of yes yes yes but it all feels too good to be embarrassed about sounding ridiculous—he just wants to get off and he’s so so close already.

“Wait, wait,” he breathes, reaching a hand to rest against Jimin’s wrist. Jimin stops, keeps his hips still, studies Yoongi’s face and Yoongi closes his eyes to keep from feeling so awkward.

He wriggles his hips, the tight circles making Jimin moan so loudly he thinks soundproof walls might not be enough. And when he rolls his hips forward, when Jimin brushes against that one spot again, he groans, head thrown back, and quickly strokes himself through orgasm. He shudders more at the warmth in him, at Jimin clawing his nails into his hips hard enough that Yoongi’s sure he’ll be bruised, at the feel of Jimin’s cum trickling out of the condom and against his thigh. It’s the best he’s felt all month.


	20. twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi how ya doin'. This chapter courtesy of the fact that I already had half of it done and spent today saying, "Screw it, my brain hurts, I'm just gonna write."

“Are you sure that’s my cat?” Yoongi frowns as he swipes through photos on Jimin’s phone. It’s weird to see the once palm-sized kitten doubled in size and it makes Yoongi feel kind of terrible for being locked up. But he smiles as he stares at a photo of Jeongguk holding Licorice Killer, imitating her tiny snarl. “She’s probably forgotten all about me.”

“I just want to say that it’s really adorable that, of all the updates I just gave you, you’re most concerned about the cat you didn’t even want and claim not to like.”

Yoongi looks up to glare at Jimin, but seeing him all sweaty and bedhead-y and topless makes that impossible. So instead, he moves closer and kisses Jimin’s shoulder, then rests his head there to look at more pictures—Namjoon and Seokjin on either side of Jia, kissing her cheeks; a selfie of Jimin wearing safety goggles at work giving a thumbs up with a gloved hand; Hoseok and that nurse Seulgi making goofy faces; Jimin and Taehyung in sunglasses and matching somber expressions. They all look happy without him. Yoongi locks the phone and tosses it aside.

“How’s Hyojin?” he asks. “You didn’t mention her.”

“I didn’t think I should,” Jimin says. “Plus I don’t know her that well. Plus also isn’t that kind of an awkward thing to ask me?”

“Probably. But you knew I’d ask so you already found out how she is. Right?”

Jimin is quiet for a moment. “I dunno, when I asked Jia she said Hyojin doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. I don’t think it’s really important for you to be concerned with her right now. I mean, that sounds insensitive…I know she’s your friend but—”

“It’s not her fault,” Yoongi says. “Don’t blame her.”

“I just don’t like her very much,” Jimin says.

“We’re practically the same person and you love _me_ so what’s wrong with _her_?”

“Do we really have to do this right now? Let’s just have a nice visit.” Jimin twists to pull Yoongi against the bed, half-pinning him, and smiles down at him. “Do you feel better now? Less skin-itchy?”

“A little,” Yoongi says. “Seriously, Jimin, just be nice to her. Please?” Jimin sighs. It’s a near guarantee that he doesn’t actually want to be nice, but he nods anyway, and Yoongi smiles gratefully. “Thank you.”

“I never said I love you,” Jimin smirks.

“Well…I assume.”

“Should I assume you love me?”

“That’s your prerogative.”

“I’m breaking up with you,” Jimin shakes his head before leaning in to kiss Yoongi.

The hum in Yoongi’s throat at the contact makes Jimin laugh quietly. His hand cradles the side of Yoongi’s head and his hips press closer to Yoongi’s and Yoongi doesn’t know how to breathe. The visitation period is probably coming to a close but he can’t think about that—it’s only the taste of Jimin in his mouth and the weight of Jimin on top of him and how perfect and calm and right he feels.

A different hum starts, one that’s low and sort of ominous and Yoongi can’t pinpoint the source, and Jimin sits up, equally confused. “Oh. Right, the…the warning thing,” Yoongi says with a sigh. “Fuck. Okay. We’ve got five minutes left.”

“But I want fifty million,” Jimin frowns.

Yoongi sits up, puts his hands over Jimin’s face. “No you can’t do that,” he says. “I won’t be able to let you leave if you keep doing that. I’ll check myself right out and then what good would that be if I wind up coming back again? Put your lip back, put your pants on.”

“Orrrr we could see how fast I can—”

“No. No. Pants now.”

++++

Jimin leaves his star sweater behind. They spend three of their last five minutes just hugging and Yoongi wants so badly to never let Jimin go. It’s lonely once Jimin goes and a sweater faintly smelling of blueberries just doesn’t suffice. He ventures back to his room and curls up on his bed with the sweater and does his best not to cry. He’s grateful that Chanyeol doesn’t ask questions.

At least his cycle isn’t much of an issue anymore and he can get back to not feeling like a sex-crazed jackass. But that just leaves him more time to think about loneliness and everything that’s wrong in his head and he suddenly wishes for the fever to come back. He sleeps in an abnormal cycle, a few hours on, a few off, until eventually he forgoes trying to sleep and just waits for the cafeteria to be open for breakfast.

Dr. Kim arrives late, leaving Yoongi even more time to dwell, and by the time the session starts he thinks about maybe crying. But he pushes that down, curls up some on the couch, keeps his head against his knees.

“Bad day?” Dr. Kim guesses, smiling as he sits his briefcase down on the desk. Yoongi stays quiet. “Well, I hear Jimin came to see you yesterday; how’d that go?” A pull to answer tugs at Yoongi but he still keeps his mouth shut. “Ah, so we’re back to square one. Alrighty then. Well I hope it was a nice visit; I had to pull a lot of strings. I must really be fond of you.”

“I want to go home,” Yoongi says.

“You really want to go, or you just want to see Jimin more?”

“Mm.”

“I think,” Dr. Kim comments as he does that fake nonchalant tone that gets on Yoongi’s nerves, “that this time apart might be good for you. You’re working on being better for you. And I’m sure he appreciates that. I realize it can be very hard to be apart from your mate—”

“Jesus Christ, don’t,” Yoongi says with a grimace. “Don’t…say mate. That just sounds gross. Are you like eighty? What the hell.”

“Sorry,” Dr. Kim smiles. “Being apart from your _person_ can feel excruciating. Especially when you’re younger. But it’s healthy to let yourselves grow individually. To not let a new relationship consume you. You don’t want to lose yourself just because you found someone.”

“You are basically the worst bits of an after school special rolled into one person.”

“You know what, I’ll accept that.” Dr. Kim nods. There’s a smile somewhere within Yoongi threatening to surface, and he does his best to ignore it. “So let’s talk about pills. We’re not going to try the Tranquoril again because I really don’t think it’s working so well with your chemistry. So what we’re gonna do is start you on Sertralopam, at fifty milligrams, and see how that works out for a few months. It should work a little better. And I’m also going to suggest switching your suppressant to Davirex when it’s officially available. It’s very new, but it’s been shown to have fewer interactions with other medications and—What? What’s happening to your face right now?” Yoongi looks back down to his knees, cheeks warming. “Was that a _smile_? Wow. That’s new.”

“My b…Jimin…helped develop Davirex,” Yoongi says. “So.”

“He smiles about suppressants, got it,” Dr. Kim says as he exaggerates pretending to write that on Yoongi’s file. Yoongi almost laughs. “So you might know a lot of this but it’s a pill, and you take it daily and your cycle shrinks to twice a year—”

“Yeah I’ve…heard all of this.”

“Great. So what do you think? Think you’ll wanna make the switch?”

Yoongi frowns, runs his hand over his hair. “Maybe I won’t take anything,” he says.

“You would really rather not take something?” Yoongi shrugs. “Do you want to talk about why?”

“Nope.”

“Alright. Well just keep the Davirex in mind and I’ll see about getting you on Sertralopam starting today.”

++++

“This place seems nice,” Jeongguk comments as he looks around, wide-eyed. Yoongi only half-listens as he works on devouring the cheeseburger and fries Jeongguk brought him. “Do you like it?”

“I don’t hate it,” Yoongi says. He takes several gulps of his milkshake before sighing and watching Jeongguk. “How are you?”

Jeongguk shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Tell me about life in the nuthouse. Again.”

“But I want to hear about life outside of the nuthouse.” He leans over and musses Jeongguk’s hair. “How’s it going with Taehyung? Jiminnie says—”

“Jiminnie?” Jeongguk grins and Yoongi briefly considers punching his dumb bunny teeth out for the teasing. “Jiminnie!”

“Shut up or I swear I will end your life.” The blushing does nothing to make his threat credible. “He says you’re over a lot. You finally decided you can deal with liking a boy?”

“Uh…about that.” When Jeongguk starts to blush, Yoongi raises a brow. He’s fairly certain he’s only seen Jeongguk blush a handful of times before. And never over a person.

“Oh fuck, did you sleep with him?”

“So, okay, it’s just—”

“Jesus, kid, I didn’t think it was that serious.” Against his stomach’s wishes, he puts his burger down to frown at his brother. Not that he thinks Jeongguk is incapable of being intimate with a person—he’s certain of the opposite. It just strikes him that he doesn’t know much of anything happening with his brother, even something as important as this. He tries not to feel terrible about missing things. “So…he’s your boyfriend I guess?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jeongguk mutters to his lap. “I don’t really want to make a big deal out of it.”

“But it’s kind of a big deal anyway,” Yoongi says. “I mean…did you like it? Was it weird? When did this happen?”

“A while ago,” Jeongguk says.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were kinda busy falling apart.”

Most of Yoongi’s brain knows that that isn’t an insult; it’s the truth, in the simplest form possible. But he bristles momentarily, considers curling up in his little hedgehog ball and shutting Jeongguk out for the rest of the visit. He takes a few deep breaths first, then nods. 

“Okay,” he says. “Fair. Tell me now, then.”

It takes more effort than Yoongi anticipated to listen to his brother discussing his newfound sex life in detail without grimacing too often. He listens to Jeongguk talk about how Taehyung has a gentleness that Jeongguk isn’t used to, how nice it is to have someone he feels so comfortable with, how much he likes making Taehyung laugh. And it strikes Yoongi pretty hard that he doesn’t really remember the last time Jeongguk looked so…relaxed.  There’s no tension in his shoulders, no nervous glean in his eye. He just looks like a happy, average kid.

“I just don’t wanna be a shitty alpha like Mom,” Jeongguk says with a shake of his head as he reaches for Yoongi’s milkshake.

“Don’t say that,” Yoongi says, slapping Jeongguk’s hand away. He glances to Jeongguk’s confused face briefly. “She does what she can. It’s not easy. And…I dunno. Just take it easy on her, okay?”

“Why—”

“Just do it, fuckass.”

“Whatever,” Jeongguk says with a sigh. He swipes the milkshake anyway with a smug smile.

++++

“Your boyfriend coming back next week?” Chanyeol asks, mouth full of ramen.

Yoongi glances over from his bed, heels against the wall, and laughs quietly at Chanyeol’s chipmunk cheeks. He’s fairly certain that one day he’s going to have to put his CPR training to use and save Chanyeol from choking on a too-large bite of food. He sighs and sits up properly, adjusting the star sweater on his shoulders.

“Tomorrow, I think.” Yoongi can’t help the smile that emerges as he speaks. “I told him weekend hours are longer so…”

“Cute,” Chanyeol coos before laughing. “You’re so lucky. I only see Joy every other week.”

“Yeah…I’m pretty lucky, I think,” Yoongi nods. He starts to pull at a loose piece of the sweater before thinking better of it, and he looks back at Chanyeol. “So…we’re friends now, right? Is it rude to ask why you’re here?”

“It’s very rude,” Chanyeol says. He plops his chopsticks into his bowl and turns to look Yoongi over. “I sort of had an episode.”

“…Episode?”

“Well. The fancy head doctor people call it a psychotic break. It sounds freaky but…I’m okay though!” That big dumb smile returns, and Yoongi smiles back just barely. “I just got really stressed with work and my family and school and…here I am, in the loony bin for two months. That’s fine with me, though; I’d stay longer if I could. I kinda like it here. It’s peaceful and I meet nice people. Like you!”

“I’m definitely not nice.”

“Well you’re nice to me,” Chanyeol says with a shrug. He picks up his chopsticks, but doesn’t try and eat again just yet. “So what about you?”

Yoongi sighs quietly; of course the question would be reciprocated. Why wouldn’t it? He leans back against the wall and tucks his hands into Jimin’s sweater, then gives a small nod. “I tried to kill myself. Again.”


	21. twenty-one

“As your roommate, I think it’s my duty to tell you that you smell like ass. Take that sweater off; it reeks.”

Yoongi looks up, sees Chanyeol making faces at him. He rolls his eyes and throws his pillow over to him, the fabric muffling Chanyeol’s laughed but not well enough.

“I think you’re confusing my sweater with your sheets,” Yoongi says. “Gross motherfucker.”

“My sheets are fine!” Chanyeol insists. “Look, if you can keep your lame sweater to smell your lamer boyfriend, I can keep Joy on my sheets.”

“Gross.” Yoongi smiles to himself and scrolls down more on his phone. It’s been six hours and he can’t bring himself to stop staring at it now that he has it back. But he also can’t bring himself to text anyone just yet. “What kinda name is Joy anyway. She’s not American, I looked.”

“Stop staring at my girlfriend.”

“Stop putting her in my face.”

“It’s Sooyoung,” Chanyeol says. “But she makes me really happy, so…”

“Ugh, you’re even grosser than I thought.”

The Internet at large starts to lose some of its appeal now that Chanyeol’s brought up Jimin, and Yoongi heads to his contact list to look it over. He thumbs down down down, then pauses. Hyojin. He could text her an apology that would likely go ignored. He could. Or he could keep pushing through, find Jimin, and text him. It’s during work hours so he might not have a chance to respond…But Yoongi hasn’t quite gotten past Hyojin yet, staring at the little hearts in her contact name that she’d added after getting angry at him for not having a special name for her like everyone else. He sighs some, then shakes his head and clicks.

Hey did I leave the stove on?  
**13:32**

 **Hyung**  
You did. The house burned down weeks ago. All that was spared was your mom, your cat and your porn stash.  
**13:33**

Thank God you saved the porn.  
**13:34**

Come see me tomorrow.  
**13:34**

 **Hyung**  
I’m working tomorrow.  
**13:44**

You’re working always. You’ve only come up here once and I miss you.  
**13:45**

  
The pause after saying that lingers too long. Yoongi’s chest squeezes so tightly he anticipates his heart liquefying and pouring out of his ears. This was Dr. Kim’s fault. Him and his stupid push for Yoongi to actually say how he feels instead of squishing said feelings deep, deep, deep down until they’re no longer relevant. Now, because he’d said something as stupid as ‘I miss you,’ Hoseok would never speak to him again. He’s made it awkward. He’s fucked up the first texts he’s sent in two months.

But no. No, that’s not true, and it’s a leap that Yoongi should probably not make, and he closes his eyes and counts up to seven before his phone vibrates in his hands.

 **Hyung**  
I miss you too. :( I’m sorry I haven’t been able to make it.  
**13:54**

Sorry patient issues. Switched shifts with someone and I’m not used to working with patients that are overwhelmingly awake. I may need to be bailed out, I could throttle this guy.  
**13:54**

Anyway I have a whole three day weekend next week!!!!!! I’ll come visit you then.  
**13:55**

Are visiting hours still restricted? Or have they deemed you sane enough for visitors anytime?  
**13:55**

Congrats on the phone privileges, either way!  
**13:55**

Thanks. They don’t do unrestricted visiting hours here unfortunately. But if you come, we don’t have to hang out in the supervised areas now. You can see our room!  
**13:57**

 **Hyung**  
Ahhhh that’s amazing, I’m really proud of you, Yoongi. Seriously. You’re doing really well.  
**13:58**

I’m glad we can text now! I can tell you all about this disastrous date I had a couple of weeks ago.  
**13:59**

But also I think maybe I have a crush? I dunno. I need to talk to you in person and explain.  
**14:01**

Sure. Get back to work. I’ll bother you about this later.  
**14:19**

Yoongi sighs. Runs a hand over his face with a quiet groan. Glances to the other side of the room to see Chanyeol staring back at him, mouth turned down in the threat of a pout, eyes wide and shimmery. He hates it when Chanyeol does that, when he watches so closely like Yoongi might have a breakdown out of nowhere. He gives Chanyeol a quick nod, a small reassuring smile, then looks back to his phone.

The screen shakes some and Yoongi realizes it’s him, it’s him shaking, and he can’t really stop it and he doesn’t know why or when it started. A few deep breaths don’t help and he doesn’t want to freak his roommate out but he definitely can’t breathe. And now he’s just further annoyed that Chanyeol has cause to stare.

“You need a nurse?” Chanyeol asks cautiously.

“Nn.”

“Okay…What do you want me to do?” He can’t answer, or maybe doesn’t want to, and instead flops over onto his side. “Yoongi. What do—”

“Fuck off.”

“Okay.”

Yoongi hears him slide out of the bed, creep toward the door, close it quietly behind himself. That wasn’t the way to handle that and he knows that but he can’t really think straight. His mind just focuses on this maybe-crush of Hoseok’s. Probably some tall hot doctor. Definitely better than Yoongi. And it shouldn’t bother him, not when he has Jimin, but here he lies, breathless and…crying? Yes. Definitely crying. Because Hoseok has finally maybe moved on. Knots on top of knots form in his stomach and he considers getting up to run to the bathroom, but the urge to vomit passes, and his breathing evens out, and his eyes only sting a little bit. And it’s over. He’s still alive.

“I hate this,” he mumbles as he pushes himself into sitting up.

Do you know anything about who Hoseok is maybe dating?  
**14:22**

 **Jiminnie ❤**  
MIN YOONGI  
**14:22**

ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.  
**14:22**

Jesus the first time you text me from there and you want to know Hoseok’s dating business???? Unbelievable.  
**14:23**

I’m sorry. Fuck. Sorry. Please don’t be mad.  
**14:23**

I panicked. I’m panicking.  
**14:24**

It’s just, I texted him and he said he has a crush and I freaked out even though I love you and I shouldn’t care but I’m a selfish asshole and I just really need you to tell me it’s okay. Please.  
**14:25**

 **Jiminnie ❤**  
It’s not okay. That’s like…the least okay thing. Do you want to ask me about Hyojin too while you’re at it?  
**14:26**

I really want to be angry right now, Yoongi. What you’re doing, it’s not cool and it’s not fair to him or to me.  
**14:27**

If you want to know ask him yourself.  
**14:27**

He stares at the phone for a while, trying to decide how to answer, the sighs just as the new pill alarm on his phone sounds. He rubs his nose, sniffles some, slides closer to the edge of the bed to slide some slippers on and go get his pills from a nurse. It takes extra effort to swallow. His throat feels way too tight to let even water pass through, let alone his pill. He tries not to shake as he opens his mouth for a check, then gives the nurse a polite and very fake smile before going back to his room. Rationally, logically, he can figure this out. Asking Jimin was a bad idea. Jimin has a right to be annoyed. It doesn’t mean he’s going to leave. It doesn’t mean he’s going to leave.

I’m sorry. I keep fucking up. I don’t really want to fight. Can I call?  
**14:40**

 **Jiminnie ❤**  
No. Not right now. I don’t want to yell and I’m in the middle of working. I’ll text you when I get off.  
**14:46**

“ _Fuck_!” Yoongi poises himself to throw the phone, then deflates and simply tosses it softly on top of the bed. “Fuck. God… _dammit_ , what the hell is _wrong_ with you?”

Pacing doesn’t help but that doesn’t stop Yoongi from doing it. He carves a path from his bed to Chanyeol’s and back, over and over, reworking these conversations in his head to try and figure out where the misstep happened and why. He’s being an idiot and he knows and Jimin deserves time to be angry and he knows but fuck he just wants to send a million apology texts just to make sure Jimin isn’t going to leave. But Jimin isn’t going to leave. He knows. Somewhere, buried deep beneath the avalanche of anxiety and self-loathing, he knows Jimin won’t just leave over something like this. They’re fine. Everything is fine.

“Hey, Yoongs?” Yoongi jerks his head toward the door, stares at Chanyeol hugging the doorframe. “I passed by one of the nurses, she said to tell you you have a visitor.”

“Who?” Yoongi asks and it’s gruff and rude and completely misplaced but Chanyeol, for as much time as they’ve been together, isn’t fazed.

“I dunno, she just told me to tell you to come say yea or nay.”

“God, of fucking course…”

He tries to think of who hasn’t come within the last two months, who would still need approval. He’d seen all of the usual suspects, minus Hyojin…

He stops walking as fast at that and quietly prays that he won’t see her on the other side of the check-in desk. Not when he’s trying to not panic. Not when he looks like shit, he’s pretty sure.

But it isn’t Hyojin when he approaches. It isn’t Hyojin and his stomach drops all the same. The shaking comes back. His throat closes again. He can barely see and he thinks his legs might give up the ghost any second all because—

“Dad?”


	22. twenty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy that was a terrible cliffhanger, huh? I'd apologize but it would be a lie. I hope this is an acceptable thrilling conclusion to this two-part drama. (Okay many parts. Many, many parts.)

“Fuck off.”

“…Okay, that’s a valid greeting, all things considered.”

“That’s not a greeting, that’s a warning. Fuck. Off.”

The tension from fighting with Jimin, from feeling upset about Hoseok’s crush, quadruples with every word. He’s nauseous but not in the nice, sort of fun way like when Jimin is around. This is an actual awful feeling that he wants no part of. He wants no part of any of this, standing there near the check-in desk, staring at this man that he recognizes on the surface but doesn’t know at all.

He looks the same, mostly. Maybe a little sadder. A little more haggard, like he’d skipped three years of sleeping. It’s strange to look at him, like a warped funhouse mirror that predicts the future. The family always joked about Yoongi and Jeongguk splitting their father’s attributes unevenly, with Jeongguk getting the height and Yoongi getting everything else. But it’s not really very funny to stare at him again after so long avoiding him.

Mr. Min keeps his hands in his pockets, slumped the way Jeongguk slumps when he’s too lazy to stand up straight. A strong urge to just punch him in the face wells up, but Yoongi resists and simply puts his own hands in his pockets.

“I’m just here to try and be supportive,” Mr. Min says.

“I don’t want or need your support.”

“Yoongi, I’m sorry—”

“The fuck you are. You’re not sorry, you’ve never _been_ sorry.” Over his father’s shoulder, he notices the nurse at the check-in desk watching them. He tries to lower his voice. “How did you even know…”

“Jeongguk mentioned,” Mr. Min says. “We went to lunch yesterday. I asked him how you were.”

“I want you to leave,” Yoongi says with a little more force, even though his voice shakes behind the words. “I don’t want to see you.”

“That’s fair,” Mr. Min says. “But I was really hoping, I mean Jeongguk said you’d made a lot of progress, I thought we could talk.”

The check-in desk nurse gestures toward the security booth with a question on her face. Yoongi smiles a little, relieved momentarily to have someone concerned. He shakes his head slightly, then looks up at his father.

“I’m giving you ten minutes of my time starting three minutes ago.”

They settle on the front porch. Yoongi considers going to the courtyard but he doesn’t want this guy tainting the place he’d spent time speaking with all of the people who genuinely do support him. His leg bounces and he watches some geese in the distance and he does his best not to start an unwavering stream of profanity.

“So, you know, I haven’t gotten a chance to apologize for everything that happened with your mom,” Mr. Min says and Yoongi grimaces at the smoke wafting his way. “I wanna say I’m sorry, to you and to her and to Jeongguk. I shouldn’t have said the kind of shit I said and I should’ve maybe…tried a little harder. She told me to go and…I did.”

“What’s the point of trying,” Yoongi mumbles, “when you’re clearly fed up with a broken alpha wife and two fucked-up mama’s boys.”

“I was angry.”

“I’m angry right now,” Yoongi says. “So you gonna forgive me if I call you a coward and a liar and a heartless son of a bitch?” He makes a show of coughing, overexaggerated and judgmental and he doesn’t stop until he sees the cigarette hit the ground and snuff out beneath his father’s boot. “I don’t give a fuck what you call me. Whatever, I’m a shit beta, you can’t handle the fact that I like dick, I’m crazy like her. I don’t care. But you say shit about my brother and I can’t forgive you. He doesn’t deserve that. He looks up to you, asshole. And you think he’s broken, too.”

The geese are long gone and a few people he recognizes from group are walking around the main path and Yoongi just really wants to disappear from the situation. His grip on his phone can’t get any tighter. That whole weird-ass mind meld thing would be handy if Jimin could pick up on Yoongi needing rescuing.

“So you’re just gonna not say anything.”

“I was letting you get it all out,” Mr. Min says. “Do you have anything else you wanna tell me?”

“You said you quit.”

“I lied.”

“Of course you did.”

This isn’t the comfortable silence with Jimin. Or Namjoon. Or, fuck, even Taehyung, that one time he’d come with Jeongguk for a visit and Jeongguk walked off to get a spoon from the cafeteria. This silence weighs tons, hangs around Yoongi’s neck like an invisible albatross. It’s killing him and crushing his spirit and he feels himself sliding back into old, awkward habits. His brain starts to swell with other voices telling him to try a little harder, listen a little better, be a little more forgiving. Jimin and Dr. Kim and Hoseok all merge in his head and the result just leaves Yoongi irritated by the logic.

“I don’t forgive you right now,” he says eventually. “You’ve done fuck-all to actually show you’re any kind of remorseful. But. I guess if you wanted to come back, I won’t add you to my blacklist.”

“There’s a blacklist here?” Mr. Min laughs some. “This is fancy as hell. How much is this costing me?”

“Uh, zero?”

“You know I pay for the insurance shit, right?” Yoongi says nothing. “Okay, well. I get it. I won’t push. But I’d like to see you again. Maybe next week?”

“Week after.”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

“You’re still an asshole.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that idea from all the swearing.”

Yoongi refuses to smile.

++++

“No one asked me,” Jia says, mouth full of burrito, “but I think it’s good to kind of bury the hatchet with your dad. I think it could be good for you.”

“Fuck ‘im,” Namjoon says. “Seriously, fuck him, fuck everything about that. Prick.”

“Thank you,” Yoongi says as he and Namjoon share a high five. “Fuck it.”

Saturday and their room has more people than space. Yoongi and Chanyeol maybe sort of fudged the acceptable visitors’ lists. Technically, each of them is alloted a maximum of four visitors at a time. Technically. But that would mean leaving someone out for the first-ever Yoongi’s-in-lockup-again-and-now-Chanyeol’s-going-home Saturday-afternoon-but-pretend-it’s-night get-together. So now, all of Yoongi’s friends are also on Chanyeol’s approved list, and they’re stretching the limits of the shared space.

“What if he’s genuinely trying to change?” Joy, somewhat meekly from her position in Chanyeol’s lap (“Hyung, there’s no room, so of course she has to sit in my lap”), asks. “Maybe you should hear him out.”

“I already said he could come back, what the hell do you people want from me?” Yoongi grunts and reaches for another slice of pizza. It’s got to be his fourth, or maybe fifth, but he’d missed Yang’s Pizza so much he considers just taking a box for himself and refusing to share. Bless Namjoon for bringing so much of it. “I’ll see him in a couple of weeks. Until then, fuck it, I said.”

“Would you rather fight a hundred miniature squirrels with little bayonets,” Taehyung asks, “or one giant squirrel with a machete?”

Yoongi stares for a bit as the others clamor to answer. It feels weird to him to have someone that isn’t Namjoon throw out the weird questions. Weirder that Taehyung may as well be as far into Jeongguk’s lap as Joy is in Chanyeol’s. Hearing about Jeongguk and his adoration for this kid was far different from seeing it in action, and Yoongi almost goes into possessive mode. Almost. Until Jimin’s hand, strong and firm, grips his neck, squeezes some, silently tells him to un-hedgehog. And that’s that. Yoongi relaxes almost instantly.

He lets out a small sigh and crams the last of his slice into his mouth before tucking himself against Jimin’s side. The room smells of greasy cheese and some bright, overwhelming scent from everyone mixing together and it’s almost too much for Yoongi, but Jimin makes it better. He smiles to himself, kisses Jimin’s shoulder, runs a hand along Jimin’s thigh. They’re okay, for the most part. Even with a mini fight just days ago. He asked Jimin to come and Jimin came and they’re okay.

“But squirrels don’t even have thumbs,” Jeongguk objects, waving his hand through the air. “Weaponizing them is a terrible idea.”

“If you fight the little ones,” Chanyeol says, “you can just step on them.”

“But if you fight the big one, all you have to do is get the machete and you have the upper hand,” Seokjin says. “The little ones, some of them are bound to cut your ankles.”

“So what are you going to do with your freedom, Chanyeol?” Jia asks.

Chanyeol’s grin can only be described as devious. His hold around Joy’s waist tightens in a way that would’ve been imperceptible if she hadn’t let out a giggle.

“Please do not answer that,” Yoongi says.

“I’m going to eat lots of junk food,” Chanyeol nods. “And work on more music. And come back to visit Yoongi hyung!”

“Who willingly comes back to a crazy house?” Yoongi scoffs.

“I do, and don’t call it that. You’ll miss me, you know,” Chanyeol tells him. “What are you going to do here for four months without me?”

“Celebrate. Have parties. Jerk off on your side of the room.”

“You did the last one anyway,” Chanyeol says, attempting to glare but it’s still very much not effective.

Yoongi laughs. “Yeah well. Better lighting over there.”

“Why d—”

“Babe. Please. Don’t ask him that,” Seokjin cuts Jia off, shaking his head. “Anyway congrats on getting out, new friend.”

“Thanks, man,” Chanyeol grins. He shifts to grab a paper cup full of cola, then holds it in the air. “To new friends!”

“To new friends!”

“To getting a room to my fucking self,” Yoongi says. He doesn’t try very hard not to look kind of sad about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!
> 
> Okay just kidding. I'm not ending TWO fics in one night. For the record, I would much rather fight one giant squirrel. Now the question is - who is Yoongi's new roommate going to be? (The other question - who is Hoseok's crush??) (And I guess a third question - can anyone bring me some New York style pizza? I've made myself super hungry.)


	23. twenty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So heeeeeeey. Here's an update. Hooray! There isn't much time between the last chapter and this one. There's brief mention of abuse in the latter part of the chapter so be advised. Okay I hope you like it!

Yoongi’s pinky catches on Jimin’s belt loop before the younger boy can slip out of the room, and it takes Yoongi a moment to formulate a proper response to the question on Jimin’s face. Everyone else has gone and Chanyeol’s off for a walk with Joy and it’s just him and Jimin and an assortment of trash. There’s tons to say but Yoongi isn’t sure where to start. If he wants to start.

Before he can manage, Jimin speaks. “Look, whatever you’re about to say, or do, don’t,” Jimin shakes his head. He moves Yoongi’s finger away.

“I was just hoping we could talk,” Yoongi says.

“I’m not ready to talk to you,” Jimin says.

“But—”

“Look, I came because you asked and I wanted to be here for your friend.” Jimin sighs, waves Yoongi’s comments away. “But please don’t mistake me being here for not being angry. I’m still angry. And I don’t really have the energy to fight with you right now. So…just give me some time, please.”

“Oh.”

Saying all the air left the room feels stupid and cliche and the entirely accurate thing to say for this feeling constricting Yoongi’s chest. He nods, maybe, and holds himself as he watches  Jimin walk out, watches the door to his room click shut, watches it not fly back open again as he’d hoped.

It still doesn’t open five minutes later.

Or ten.

Or thirty.

After forty-seven minutes, Yoongi stops staring. The dryness of his eyes pricks with every blink to remoisten them and his stomach feels heavy and swirling. He checks his phone. No texts from Jimin. It would be crazy to text him after being told to stay away. Right? That was definitely a crazy thing. But he starts and deletes and starts again at least a dozen times before taking his medication and curling up to have a quiet cry against his pillow.

The next time his eyes open, it’s because of a drawer shutting. He prepares his standard complaint about Chanyeol and his earlybird status but it’s not Chanyeol. Not even close. His eyes adjust down, several centimeters down from where he’d grown used to looking to glare up at Chanyeol. No silver. Black. Closely-cropped black, very meticulously arranged and completely opposite of Chanyeol’s just-rolled-around-on-the-floor look. Short black hair, slightly thicker build, short, forest green polo shirt tucked into khaki slacks. A new orderly or something?

“Uh. Can I help you?”

Yoongi and this non-Chanyeol both startle, though Yoongi jumps just a few seconds later as this guy drops several books that had apparently been in his hand. He turns to look at Yoongi and something like familiarity comes to Yoongi. He’s never seen this guy before but he’s seen that look several times over the weeks. He’s pretty sure he looked the exact same.

“Oh. You’re moving in,” Yoongi says. A second passes in which he’s angry for not even getting twelve hours alone with the room. He sits up, tries to make himself look as immaculate as this guy and his fancy shirt and creased pants. “Welcome to institutional living.”

The new roommate squints some, then stoops to pick up his books and starts arranging them atop the dresser. Yoongi starts to miss Chanyeol’s mini DJ setup already.

“Okay…Well, two rules,” Yoongi jokes. “Don’t touch my stuff—”

“I don’t want to touch your stuff.”

Normally, when speaking to someone for the first time, they comment on Yoongi’s voice being much heavier than they expect for his size, to which he generally responds with one of several go-to snarky retorts. Hearing this new guy, he thinks maybe he’s been way too sensitive—it really is quite jarring to hear such a deep voice from such a little guy.

Yoongi folds his arms over his chest.

“Two rules,” he starts again. “Don’t touch my stuff and don’t wake me up unless you’re on fire.” This earns Yoongi what he’s sure is the same look he’d given Chanyeol. “Three rules now. Third rule, don’t be on fire.”

“Why would I be on fire?” the new roommate asks, bewilderment crossing his face.

“It’s…a joke. I mean, fuck, you could be an arsonist for all I know.”

“I’m not an arsonist.”

“Good to know.”

New roommate tightens his lips into an uncertain semi-smile. Nothing about this feels as easy as it had with Chanyeol. And now this makes way too many times Yoongi’s thought of Chanyeol and he’s wholly uncomfortable with that.

“I’m Yoongi. Min Yoongi.” There’s no reply. “And you are…?”

“Do Kyungsoo.”

“Nice to meet you, Do Kyungsoo.” Kyungsoo smells of clean laundry. Yoongi considers whether or not it’s coming directly from Kyungsoo or if it’s from the clothes he’s putting away and it’s definitely kind of a weird thing to just come out and ask. But it’s a nice smell, so whichever the source, it’s welcome-ish. Even if Kyungsoo seems like he wants nothing to do with Yoongi. “How long are you in for?”

“Ninety days,” Kyungsoo says.

“Out before me, then,” Yoongi says. “Lucky duck.” Kyungsoo shuts another drawer. “So…My last roommate literally just left. They didn’t waste time ushering you in, huh? You must’ve seen him heading out on your way in. Shuffling Sunday.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“…What?”

“Today. It’s Tuesday, not Sunday.” Kyungsoo casts a look to Yoongi before putting more of his things away.

Tuesday. Tuesday, not Sunday, which meant he’d lost at least 48 hours. He doesn’t remember Chanyeol leaving. He doesn’t remember eating or pissing or talking to any nurses. He doesn’t remember meeting with Dr. Kim. He doesn’t remember a single thing between Jimin leaving and this guy coming and oh fuck is he going to have to stay even longer?

A quick check of his phone confirms it’s definitely Tuesday. And he’d definitely been at least a little functional Sunday and Monday, looking at rather detached, one-word answers to texts from Namjoon and Jeongguk. Fuck fuck fuck fuck

“ _Fuck_!” Yoongi scrambles up, out of the room, down toward the nurses’ station on his floor. They look rather startled at his running up. “Where was I?”

“Ex…cuse?” The nurse with the bad split ends and irritating laugh lifts a brow.

“Where. Was. I.” And they still don’t get it. How can they not get it? He tugs at his hair for a second. “I wasn’t here, I wasn’t—Where did I go Sunday and Monday? Why didn’t anyone try and wake me?”

“Yoongi—”

“No, _fuck_ this!” The slamming of his palms against the countertop scares one of the other nurses into a quick squeak of a scream and he can see in his peripheral that people are crowding in and why why why was this happening. “I’m missing two days, it’s blank. Call Dr. Kim.” The hesitation just makes Yoongi madder. “Call Dr. Kim, what the fuck are you just _staring_ like that for?!”

None of these nurses are his nurses, the ones he likes and trusts and deals with well. And they aren’t taking him seriously and that air-sucking feeling is back and he’s pretty sure he’s panicking and he didn’t even get to say goodbye to Chanyeol and now this new guy’s fucking weird and why isn’t anyone calling Dr. Kim and why is it so fucking loud on the floor? The loudness hurts his ears and his head and when he feels even more eyes on him he realizes it’s him. He’s the noise on the floor and he can’t stop yelling at these nurses and he just wants them to call Dr. Kim. An orderly takes hold of his arm. A nurse moves closer and there’s a quick stabbing in his arm and Yoongi rather quickly just wants to go back to that nothingness he’d been in for two whole days.

++++

“You are really a fun little knapsack of issues, huh?”

The shot still has Yoongi feeling somewhat sluggish but even if he weren’t, he wouldn’t have laughed. He doesn’t turn over on the sofa in the office. Maybe the back cushions will suffocate him so he doesn’t have to ramble through the bullshit of whatever the hell he’d fucked up now. Dr. Kim’s pen clicks.

“Does that happen often?” Dr. Kim asks. “Being unable to remember stretches of time?” The answer is no, not often. Maybe only two or three times before that Yoongi is aware of. But the answer isn’t mentioned aloud. “And we’re back to this old chestnut. Yoongi, you asked me to come. You screamed at the nurses. They thought you were at risk.”

“Aren’t I always at risk?” Yoongi mutters. “’S why I’m here, isn’t it?”

“You’re here because you wanted to get better for your ma—your boyfriend,” Dr. Kim says. “To which I said you need to get better for yourself. And also because you tried to kill yourself again. So let’s try again—Does that happen often?”

“A few times. Not often.”

“Are you usually very stressed or overwhelmed when it happens?”

“Dunno.”

“Are you stressed or overwhelmed right now?”

“Are you filling out a dating profile for me?”

Dr. Kim laughs. “That is exactly why I’ve made the drive here, still in my pajamas,” he says. “To help you make an unusually intimate dating profile. Beta Match. Yes. Precisely.”

“Don’t be a—”

“Sarcastic prick? Yoongi. Honestly. Think about what you’re about to say.” Yoongi thinks. He does not like the conclusion he draws. He sighs and scoots himself closer to the back cushions of the sofa, tries to curl up so tightly that maybe he’ll just implode and disappear. “Sometimes people experience something known as dissociative amnesia. They can’t remember what’s happened to them in the last few minutes. Hours. Days. Years, sometimes. It’s thought to come about due to stress, often times sexual abuse, PTSD—”

“I’ve never been sexually abused, if that’s what you’re about to ask,” Yoongi says.

“Great. I don’t have to ask. But physical or emotional abuse—”

“Nope.”

“Alright.” Another click of the pen. “The staff says your father came by. That must’ve been kind of awkward. Wanna talk about it? Just kidding. Definitely talk about it.”

“I hate him and I hope he gets hit by a dairy truck,” Yoongi says. It’s not entirely true; he doesn’t want the truck driver to be hurt in the accident so maybe just his father smashing into a tree instead. No other fatalities that way. “He’s been talking to my brother. I shouldn’t be here, I should be out there, protecting Jeongguk from him.”

“What makes you feel like he needs protecting?”

Fuck. That was the wrong word to use. Yoongi curses the sedative still traipsing through his veins for lowering his guard.

“He’s just a dickhead,” Yoongi says. “He’s a liar and a coward. Jeongguk deserves better.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve met me. You know why not.”

“I’d love to hear your take on it, though.”

“God…I take it back, I want you to leave.”

Yoongi groans his way into sitting up, into actually looking at Dr. Kim. He wasn’t lying—he’s actually sitting at the desk in a pajama set. A Batman pajama set, complete with comic book style POW! WHACK! WHAM! word bubbles, his hair a brilliant unsprayed mess. Of course Yoongi would manage to get the dorkiest psychiatrist on the planet. Dr. Kim adjusts his horn-rimmed glasses and gives Yoongi a tiny smile.

“I’m just like him,” Yoongi says. He looks down at his own polka-dotted pajama pants, plays with a loose thread of the star sweater. “It’s like when my parents fucked they just…gave me the worst bits of both of them. Can’t just be crazy, or a dickhead, I have to be a crazy dickhead. Everyone around me suffers, I infect them with this…this sickness. I bring them down. They’re so much better without me. I’m here, and they’re all fine. You know Hoseok’s got a crush on someone?”

“I did not know that, no,” Dr. Kim shakes his head and a little bit of hair at the back of his head flops about.

“Yeah, well. He’s moved on,” Yoongi says. “He doesn’t need me. None of them need me. Jimin’s mad at me for doing more crazy dickhead shit. Namjoon…Well he’ll always be there but he doesn’t count. He’d support literally anyone.”

“Tell me what you did to Jimin.”

“I asked him to tell me about Hoseok’s crush. I shouldn’t have done that. I panicked. I couldn’t—I mean Hoseok hasn’t had a crush on anyone other than me in…years. I can’t handle this.”

“Sure you can.”

“No, I can’t. Obviously. I lost two fucking days.”

Dr. Kim nods again, then clicks his pen and starts to write. “You said it’s happened before,” he says. “Tell me about it? Is it usually when you’re stressed?”

The first time, Yoongi didn’t realize it had happened until Namjoon starts assuming Yoongi is trying to fuck with him by pretending he doesn’t remember going to the shore. Yoongi played along eventually, but he made note of it since it seemed like such a strange occurrence. He’d never mentioned it before to anyone. Except Hoseok. Yoongi sighs. Never telling anyone anything ever again seems like the best bet.

“I just…Isn’t there some kinda pill or whatever you can give me?” Yoongi asks. “I don’t want to talk, I just want you to give me something to keep that from happening again.”

“There isn’t anything,” Dr. Kim says. “And I’m not a pill dispensary. I have you on your current medication because you seem to be one of a number of people who needs that extra help to function better than being unmedicated but as you can tell it’s not a cure-all.”

“So give me the cure-all.”

“If I raise your prescription, you’ll be a zombie. Your appetite will likely disappear. You’ll probably lose interest in everything that makes you you. It’s essentially putting your brain to sleep.”

“I’m a-okay with that.”

“Your sex drive will shrivel.” Yoongi grimaces, and Dr. Kim smiles. “So, I’m not raising your medication unless you tell me that it’s not helping you with your anxiety and depression at all. And you’ve seemed fine the last few weeks. This outburst, you’re going through a lot of shit. I’m not surprised. I’m not concerned about this being a back step. Are _you_ concerned?”

“Jimin won’t talk to me.” Yoongi pauses. “I just…want him to talk to me. I’m freaking out without him and I lost two days and that’s fucking terrifying.” He waits again, hoping maybe Dr. Kim will tell him he didn’t do anything wrong, but he knows that’s not the truth. He’d definitely fucked up and Jimin definitely deserves better. No. Time. He definitely deserves time. “We haven’t ever really fought. And now it’s weird. Like…a delayed fight. I don’t like it.”

“Sometimes that’s better,” Dr. Kim says. “Sometimes if you fight in the heat of the moment, words come out that you definitely don’t intend to say. Sometimes that damage is irreparable. So it’s good to be able to say ‘I’m angry and we’ll talk about it later.’”

“Okay,” Yoongi says quietly. “But…what do I do in the meantime?”

“I dunno. Knit?”

“I really hope you lose your license, you know.”


	24. twenty-four

A week of not speaking to Jimin feels like slow torture. By Thursday, Yoongi’s taken up scrolling through every photo he has of Jimin on his phone at least once every hour and he feels ridiculous for it. It makes no sense to be so clingy. Some of the other betas in group make him feel marginally less insane, though, regaling him with stories of their own fights with their alphas and how hard it was to cope. So he keeps giving Jimin his space, keeps sleeping in the star sweater, keeps feeling like another chunk of his soul dies with every passing hour that they don’t have contact.

Friday, in the middle of a spontaneous game of horse with the klepto from the second floor, his phone shouts the chorus of I Got A Boy. The fact that Jimin is calling makes it much easier for Yoongi to ignore the teasing from the others around the court. He jogs off to grab his phone and walk back toward his room. He tells himself the slamming of his heart against his ribs is because of all the jumping around with the basketball game.

“You sound out of breath,” Jimin says after he answers the video call. “Why are you all sweaty?”

“Basketball,” Yoongi says before pausing to greet some nurses he passes. “You actually called.”

“Yeah, well. You’ve suffered long enough, right?” It’s a joke, but it irks Yoongi. He keeps it to himself. “We should talk.”

“Hold on. Still roaming the halls.”

He tucks the phone into his hoodie’s kangaroo pocket and takes the stairs up upon seeing a small crowd waiting for the eternally slow elevator. When he gets to the room, Kyungsoo’s in there, squeezed into a corner on his bed, headphones on and book light illuminating part of his face.

“Roommate’s here,” Yoongi mutters after flopping onto his bed and clicking on his lamp. Kyungsoo looks to him momentarily and Yoongi smiles. Kyungsoo smiles back slightly before going back to his book.

“Oh, a new one? That was fast.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi sighs. He stares at his phone for a moment. “So.”

“So.” Jimin puts a hand on his cheek and Yoongi finds himself mimicking the pose. He looks good, hair a poofy mess, eyes a bit heavy, blanket pulled around him. Yoongi’s free hand strokes the screen for a second before he catches himself. “You understand why I’m mad, right?”

“I shouldn’t have asked you about Hoseok,” Yoongi nods.

“That’s…not it at all. Yoongi.” Jimin sighs. Closes his eyes for a few seconds. “What did I tell you? At the beach.”

“Uh…” Oh. Fuck. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…It’s just habit—”

“You realize why that’s a problem?” Jimin asks. “Your habit is running to Hoseok. Every. Single. Time. And I asked you, really really nicely, to think of me first. And you still didn’t. And I’m pissed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But are you, though? Or are you just sorry because you don’t want me to be mad?” Yoongi sighs and lays his head against his forearm. “Thought so. So…I just really need you to think long and hard about if you really want to even be in this relationship with me. Because I like you a lot and I’m really not the type to accept coming second in someone’s heart when I should be first.”

“Don’t leave me,” Yoongi says.

“I didn’t say I was leaving,” Jimin says. “I don’t…think I know how and that’s kind of really frightening but we can’t be a romantic thing if you’re still stuck on Hoseok.”

“I love you,” Yoongi says. He hadn’t really planned on saying it aloud for the first time over the phone, tucked under his blanket with his roommate a few feet away, but it is what it is. He smiles some at a sliver of annoyance slipping from Jimin’s face. “I’m a shit. And I…I should’ve texted you first. I’m sorry. But I’m scared too and I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m talking to you from a mental institution so it goes without saying I’m a little bit fucked up but…I love you and I swear I’m trying. I just suck sometimes but please be patient with me. I’m trying. Really really hard. Like you have no idea how hard and it probably doesn’t seem like it at all but I live my life in this series of tiny crises on a near daily basis and it’s hard but I’m trying and I really love you and I missed seeing you this week and I just…I’m sorry.”

“You’re gross.” Jimin never hides smiles very well and Yoongi laughs some as Jimin puts his face against his forearm as well. “I love you too. You’re still an asshole.”

“I know.”

“I know you’re trying. And I’m trying to be patient. Just please remember that you being sick doesn’t give you unlimited free passes to be a dick.”

“I know.” Yoongi sighs. “Can I get like ten? A season pass for dickishness? Twenty-five dick passes a year? Not available for refund or exchange?” The more he talks, the more Jimin fails at not smiling, and eventually he’s just a mess of giggles and hair. Yoongi likes this Jimin best. “I want to touch you really badly right now.”

“Yeah…” Jimin’s heavy sigh once he calms himself down sets Yoongi alight. “It’s kind of been a struggle, my cycle’s here and I want to drive there and scar your roommate but I shouldn’t.”

“You could come tomorrow,” Yoongi says with too much enthusiasm. “Wait. Hoseok…Is it okay that Hoseok’s coming tomorrow?”

“Hedgie, I’m not banning you from your friend,” Jimin says with a shake of his head. “I just…need to know that you’re not gonna keep using him as a crutch.”

“Right, no, of course. Officially retired as a crutch. I could cancel on him anyway, I want to help with your cycle.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jimin shakes his head, raking his hair back. “I’ll be there next week for yours though right? So…it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asks. “You look kinda rough.”

Jimin laughs, a more embarrassed laugh this time. “I do…Work’s been busy with the release soon. And I haven’t really found a way to distract myself from…”

“From…?”

“I was going to say ‘needing you’ but that sounds really needy. And kinda shitty, right? I don’t want to be one of those gross alphas that’s only around for sex.”

“Oh.” Yoongi peeks out from his blanket to see Kyungsoo curled up asleep. He smiles some and looks back at his phone. “What if we do a phone…thing? Would that help you?”

“Please don’t,” Jimin groans some. “I’m okay, I swear. Two more days and then it’s over. I’m doing good ignoring things. Tell me about your roommate.”

“His name is Kyungsoo and I think he hates me,” Yoongi says. “He doesn’t talk to me. He’s like sixty feet shorter than Chan. Super serious. But way neater than Chan. I think he might have OCD.”

“Is he asleep?”

“Mm.”

“What’s he in for?”

“Dunno,” Yoongi says as he readjusts the phone. “I want to ask but he seems kinda freaked out being here. I think he’s an omega. He smells like fresh laundry.”

“Try not to sleep with him,” Jimin jokes.

“I don’t fuck omegas,” Yoongi says. “I like punching above my weight.”

“Hyojin.”

“…Right, shut up.” Awkwardness looms on the horizon at the mention of her, but Yoongi decides not to let it take hold. “I really really miss you. Oh remember that girl in group with the giant alpha boyfriend? They broke up.”

“Oh no!” Jimin pouts. “What happened?”

“She’s like madly in love with a new guy on five.”

“Five? Isn’t that where they put the ones that’ve, like, tried to kill people?” Yoongi nods. “Yikes.”

“Yeah. I mean he’s hot but he tried to strangle his mom so that’s a bit of a turn-off.” He smiles at Jimin’s smile. “Kinda understandable though.”

“Your mom’s sweet, though,” Jimin says. “Oh PS I met your mom. Stop making that face.”

“Sorry but what the fuck? Why—”

“Taehyung invited her to dinner the other night. It’s cute how much he wanted to impress her. And cute how much you two have the same nervous habits.”

“Me and Taehyung?”

“You and your mom. She bites her lip a lot, too.”

“I don’t bite…Do I bite my lip?”

“You do indeed. And the little nose scrunch. She does that too. So does your brother. You’re like a little family of bunnies.”

“I’m hanging up on you.”

“She’s a tough lady,” Jimin says. “I see a lot of that in you and Jeongguk.”

Yoongi smiles slightly. “Yeah,” he nods. “I do, too.”

++++

It would be a complete lie to say that Yoongi’s favorite part of people visiting him was the visitors. Not that he hated getting visitors. He just liked getting outside food far, far more. He sighs with a mouthful of jjajangmyeon from his favorite restaurant at home, turning grateful eyes to Hoseok. Hoseok makes a disgusted face for a second before laughing and mixing his own food with his chopsticks.

“How are you a hedgehog _and_ a pig,” Hoseok asks. “I can’t believe I drove three hours just to bring you cold noodles. Why didn’t you let me heat that?”

“No, mine,” Yoongi says, clutching the bowl and turning some. He coughs some and swallows the rest of his food before speaking again. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Uh huh. You’ve gained weight.”

“Stop!” Yoongi shrieks, smacking Hoseok’s very poky index finger away from him. “Fuck you, I’m still hot.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Hoseok says. “Just noticing the pudge. It’s cute. Bet Jimin likes it.”

“More to hold onto,” Yoongi nods.

“Ugh no why.”

“You opened that door and I did nothing more than walk through.” Yoongi grins; it grosses Hoseok out when people have food in their mouth and Yoongi is precisely the right level of asshole to tease him like that. He laughs as Hoseok shoves him. “You’ll be happy to know we’re not fighting anymore.”

“Good for you,” Hoseok says. “Didn’t know you were fighting.”

“I fucked up,” Yoongi shrugs. “I feel like that’s gonna be a recurring theme with us. But anyway it’s over and done with and I’m…gonna do better. I told him I love him.”

Hoseok’s jaw and chopsticks both drop. “What? Min Yoongi? Telling another living human being a thing like that?”

“I tell you I love you.”

“Yes but we’re not a couple. You’ve never told anyone you were dating that you loved them.”

“I never loved any of them.”

“Wow…” An assortment of emotions fly across Hoseok’s face and Yoongi considers questioning every single one, but decides on simply smiling back once Hoseok settles on a grin. “Good for you. You two are cute. Gross, but cute.”

“So…you’re okay?” Yoongi asks. “I mean. I know me and you are…kind of awkw—”

“We’re fine,” Hoseok says. “We’re…adjusting. Right? Navigating this new relationship where we’re not so codependent. We can handle this.”

“Right,” Yoongi nods. “No more codependence. We’re just best friends.”

“Right.” Hoseok’s chopsticks spin in his noodles idly before he lets go of them again. “Can I be honest, though? For a few weeks it was…weird. And hard. I mean I love that you have someone now, don’t get me wrong. But I kind of missed being everything for you. And not just extreme crisis contact. I hated you. No, I’m sorry, that’s harsh. I didn’t hate you. I resented him. And I was sad about you. He got all the good shit and I just got…pain. That hurt. And I should’ve just said no, I’m not going to be that for you anymore, you have Jimin, but…”

Stuffing his face as Hoseok speaks feels more and more awkward as the rambling continues, until eventually Yoongi just puts his bowl down on the picnic table. Dr. Kim had mentioned once, several weeks back, the inherent selfishness of mental illness. The tunnel vision that sometimes takes over to the point where all that matters are the problems in your own stratosphere and not the problems of others. Not the fact that your problems might hurt others. In so many years of friendship, Yoongi hadn’t ever really taken the time to consider that maybe he was really hurting Hoseok.

“It’s fine though,” Hoseok says. He’s loud, which means he’s nervous. “It’s fine. I’m okay.”

“That’s not fine,” Yoongi shakes his head. “I’m a prick. You deserve a better friend. I’m…sorry. I’ll do better with you, too.” He sighs a little and dammit, he’s definitely biting his lip. “See, this is why you’re the hyung and not me. You’re like…actually good at this talking stuff.”

“Obviously not, if we’ve been stuck in Codependency Town for years.”

Yoongi laughs some but can’t really disagree. “So tell me about your crush.”

“You really want to know?” Yoongi nods and the smile that flashes on Hoseok’s face is the brightest he’s seen from his friend in years.


	25. twenty-five

‘Stupid’ isn’t a strong enough word for how Yoongi feels, sitting on the porch and waiting for a vaguely familiar face to show up. He checks the time on his phone. This makes an hour and ten minutes of waiting and with each passing minute his tentative enthusiasm trickles down until he’s got nothing but bitterness and resentment in him. Again. An hour of ten minutes of waiting and not a single sign of his dad. Not a call. Not a text. Nothing at all but the geese near the lake honking loudly and wind rustling through leaves.  
Rather than wait outside longer, Yoongi goes back inside, ignores the greetings from the visitor station nurses, walks to his bed and flops down onto it.

“Uhh…hey?”

Yoongi thinks, for a split second, he’s hallucinating a voice. Until he remembers that he does indeed have a roommate and that roommate does indeed know how to speak. When Yoongi turns over, looks toward the other side of the bed, he sees Kyungsoo sitting on his bed staring back at him.

“Hey,” Yoongi says. “Um. Sorry. Ignore me. Sorry.”

“Weren’t you visiting with your…dad? Or something?” Kyungsoo asks.

“He didn’t feel the need to show,” Yoongi says. “Sorry, I can go…be a piece of shit elsewhere, I don’t wanna disturb—”

“It’s just reading,” Kyungsoo says, holding his book up and shaking it a little. “Sorry he didn’t show.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi shrugs. “I’m sorry I thought he might not be a shitass for once.” Kyungsoo smiles a little, and Yoongi feels himself mirroring the action. “You’re gonna be able to have visitors soon, right? Like this weekend? That’s kinda cool, right?”

“I guess,” Kyungsoo says.

“Are you close with your family?”

“Not really.”

“You realize you’ve been here this long and I think you’ve said maybe fifty words total in all this time?” Yoongi asks. Kyungsoo stares for a moment, then laughs quietly and shakes his head. “I mean it’s not a problem. I just don’t want to bother you. We could be friends if you wanted, it makes it suck slightly less here. But if you’d rather I just pretend I don’t see you over there—”

“I don’t mind,” Kyungsoo says, “but it’s just…an adjustment. I’m not used to sharing a room. Or being in a place like this. I don’t really like all the things that are out of my control here. So…reading’s all I can do to try not to think about it.”

“Gotcha,” Yoongi nods. “OCD?” Kyungsoo nods. “Well. I’ll try and be neat.”

“It’s not just…neatness,” Kyungsoo says, frowning. “Nevermind.”

“No, no, please tell me whatever I can do to make you not want to tear your hair out. I’d like to think I’m a courteous roommate.”

It’s the first time since Kyungsoo’s arrival that Yoongi sees a genuine smile on his face. He listens without interruption as Kyungsoo explains—the intrusive thoughts that led him to checking himself in at the behest of his boyfriend, the way he has to have everything in perfect alignment or his skin feels itchy and hot, how he doesn’t like being touched because it just makes him think of all the possible contaminants from the other person…It makes Yoongi feel kind of grateful that at least, even when he isolates himself, he can still go to Jeongguk at least for a hug.

“But hugging Jongin is fine,” Kyungsoo says with a small shrug. “I know he’s not dirty. Well. I know other people aren’t, I just…”

“No, I get it,” Yoongi nods. “That’s rough, though. All my intrusive thoughts are just about how I’m a worthless piece of shit. Can’t imagine thinking about hurting other people.”

“It’s exhausting,” Kyungsoo says. “But I think it’s getting better…”

“Beta or omega?”

“Beta.”

“And Jongin is…?”

“Alpha.”

“Oh, that’s the same setup with me and Jimin,” Yoongi says. “Not that people believe me about the beta thing.”

Kyungsoo laughs, deep and kind of goofy, and Yoongi finds himself laughing a little too. “No one believes me, either,” he says. “But no one believes Jongin’s an alpha, so…People suck.”

“Well, I look forward to meeting him.”

A knock on the door startles both of them, and Yoongi looks to see one of the nurses hanging out in the doorframe. “You’ve got company, Yoongi,” she says sweetly before disappearing again.

There’s no anticipation in his step as he heads back down to the visitor check-in. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and mentally prepares a string of profanity to aim at his very late father, but instead, he sees his very unexpected mother, chatting with his favorite nurse and nodding, intent look on her face. Her hair’s longer, lighter, pulled up into something of a bun and her wrist has an assortment of maskers. Most of the time her clothes work to hide her, as if extra fabric might make her not exist to other people. But she’s in skinny jeans and wedge boots and a light boatneck sweater. She looks less meek than she had the first and only other time she’d visited with Jeongguk. She looks less broken.

“Hey,” he calls, and she looks at him for a second before recognizing him and breaking into a smile.

“Hi, look at you!” She walks closer and holds her arms out, nearly pulling him into a hug, before stopping and deciding not to. Yoongi sighs and finishes the hug for her. “Oh…okay.”

“What are you doing here?” he asks, face buried against her neck. He kind of wants to cry, but people are looking and he’d already embarrassed himself once with that outburst the other week.

“I took the day off,” she explains as she rubs his back, little soothing circles like she’d done thousands of times when he was sad as a kid. “I missed you. And I heard your father was coming today and I didn’t want him showing me up coming more often than I have.”

“Wow, thanks,” Yoongi laughs some. This hug has gone on too long. Way, way too long. But neither of them pulls away. He takes in a deep breath and feels rather comforted by her scent, faint as it is thanks to the maskers. “You didn’t even bring me any food.”

“I was going to see what you wanted and then come back,” she tells him. “How much fast food is Kookie bringing you, anyway. You’re round.”

“Okay, you can go home now.” She laughs as he pulls out of her grip with a small shove. “I really really want cheese ramen. If you can.”

“Done,” she nods. She smiles some and Yoongi tries not to notice the glassy look in her eyes as she pets his hair. “You look so much better.”

“Yeah you too.”

“You know what, I feel better,” she says. “I should…thank you. For the yelling about getting help. That Dr. Kim, he’s…”

“A pain in the ass?” Yoongi says.

“I was going to say meddlesome bastard but that works too.” She smiles, then brings both hands up to squish his cheeks together. “Look at you! I can’t get over how much weight you’ve gained. This is so good, baby.”

“Mom, stop,” Yoongi frowns. He tries to swat her away but she’s strong and she isn’t ready to let go. “Come on, man, people are looking.”

“Are they? So it would be embarrassing if—” She pulls him closer to kiss all over his face, complete with loud, embarrassing smoochy noises. Yoongi can’t groan in protest loud enough. A few seconds of torture later and she lets him go with a chuckle and a grin that reminds him of his dumb little brother. “I miss you. And I wanted to apologize for—”

“Don’t,” he shakes his head. “Unnecessary. I’m over it. You did what you had to. And I needed help. I shouldn’t have been so pissed off about it.”

“Oh.” She pauses. “Well…Let’s go somewhere and sit, hm?”

“Ramen first.”

“Ugh I forgot how spoiled you are when you’re not depressed.”

++++

“Your boyfriend’s nice,” Mrs. Min says as casually as she can. Yoongi rolls his eyes.

They’d had such a nice, boyfriend-free conversation for almost an hour. His cheese ramen was long since done and he was working on his third mochi ice cream puff and he very nearly tossed it at her as a diversion tactic. Few things felt as awkward as discussing his love life—or his sex life—with his mother.

“Mm.”

“Very polite,” she continues. “Very prim and proper. Exactly nothing like the last one. Are you sure he’s your boyfriend?”

“You’re not funny,” he says.

“I’m a little funny. Talk to me about him. Is this a serious thing? Do you love him? Have you done the do yet?”

“Oh for the love of…Mom, ew. Don’t.” Yoongi puts his ice cream down, suddenly not hungry. “I guess it’s serious. I love him. We…yeah.”

“Do you think he’s the one?” she asks.

Yoongi frowns. The answer feels simple. The answer feels like yes. But his mouth can’t cooperate with his brain and it makes him stay mum. He sighs, then nods a little since his lips refuse the word. A quiet squeal starts up from her and he braces himself for more face squishing.

“It’s special,” she says, “when you feel like someone is the one. I remember when I saw your father and I just…My whole world stopped. Everything was just him. And it was like being drunk all the time, it just felt so amazing.” She quiets, then reaches for a mochi ball. “But just know that it’s not everything. Don’t lose yourself just because you found him. I wish someone had told me that.”

“When did you know?” Yoongi asks.

“That I loved him?”

“That you didn’t anymore.”

“Oh.” Another pause. “Right before your brother was born. We barely spoke. He wasn’t living with us—”

“I don’t remember this,” Yoongi says, eyebrow raised.

“Well you weren’t very old,” she points out, “and he was over a lot. Just not overnight. Anyway I just…I didn’t want him around. But then I needed help after the baby, and we tried to make it work. It just…didn’t. We were friendly, I think. But it wasn’t love anymore. And then he said the wrong thing and I couldn’t deal with that and he had to go for good.”

“He said he’s paying the insurance,” he says.

“Oh, absolutely,” she nods. “You think I’d let him just walk away and not continue shouldering some responsibility for you boys? He’d love that too much. He’s lucky he left alive.”

Yoongi smiles slightly. “You didn’t threaten Jimin, did you?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “But I made it clear that if he’s not sure about you, he needs to say so now before things get too deep. Like I said, I really like him. I like Taehyung, too. But I don’t think I’m supposed to know that your brother has a boyfriend.”

“I don’t think my brother knows that my brother has a boyfriend,” Yoongi laughs some. “I think he’s in love but it’s freaking him out. Poor kid. He needs me.”

“It’s going to be really lonely when you both move out,” she comments, reaching to rub the nape of Yoongi’s neck with a sad little smile.

“I’m not—”

“Yeah you are,” she sighs. “A mother knows. You’re both going to leave me and then it’ll just be me and the cat.”

“Wait but that’s my cat.”

“Nah, I like her, she’s mine now. Payment for making me an empty nester.”

“Wow.” Yoongi shakes his head some. “Unbelievable.”

“Alright, I should hit the road,” she says with a sigh, standing up and stretching. “Early morning tomorrow.”

“Are you coming back?”

“Of course I’m coming back.”

“When?”

She stops adjusting the shoulder strap of her purse and watches him for a moment, then smiles. “You text me and tell me when you want me to come back and I’ll make it happen,” she says. She leans over him, kisses his hair, then smooths it down a few times. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a bit of an action-light chapter buuuuuut I really just wanted to have more Mama Min time. Because when they're both feeling good, they're really quite precious together.


	26. twenty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *runs in* WHAT YEAR IS IT?! Holy cow man, I'm so sorry it's taking so long to update. Life. Ugh. Anywho. I hope this chapter isn't too boring. We're winding down now and I am sad, I don't want it to be over! *cries*

The least sexy thing in the world has to be choking on a tapioca pearl in taro root boba tea in front of your significant other. If Yoongi could breathe, he’d exert some energy into being embarrassed about this, but instead, he can’t stop coughing and his eyes are watering and he honestly can’t think of anything beyond the fact that he’s going to die in a mental hospital because of a glob of jelly. Fucking figures.

Ten seconds ago he was fine. More than fine, honestly. He’d gotten laid—a few times—and that awful ache that comes with his stupid cycle is gone, sated by the close proximity to Jimin. He’d gotten a pretty decent lunch—jjajangmyeon and bulgogi that his mom made and sent via Jimin. And now this bubble tea, his favorite kind, may well bring about his demise, and if that’s not some kind of cosmic irony Yoongi doesn’t know what is.

Sputterings of _I’m fine_ and _stop hitting me_ don’t make it anywhere close to out of his mouth as he keeps on coughing, Jimin whacking his back with the kind of fervor of a wolverine cornered and panicking. The accent he normally has hidden comes out, a strong Busan dialect with a lilt that Yoongi would find endearing if he weren’t seconds from death. At the very least, the last things he’ll hear will be pleasant to listen to as long as Jimin keeps talking.

Although, after a few more coughs, he realizes Jimin isn’t really talking. It’s in his head, that calming tone, repetitive and easy and warm. Jimin hasn’t said a word beyond the last words he’d said.

_Move in with me._

And that’s how Yoongi got here, startled and choking, trying to decide if he has enough time to plan a dramatic death pose.

“Jesus fuck,” Yoongi growls, voice torn to shreds from a combination of a pretty vigorous round of fucking and that damned tapioca pearl he’d finally managed to swallow. He sniffles, wipes the tears clinging to his lashes, lifts his gaze to Jimin and waits for him to maybe say something else. Or maybe ask the question again.

Not that it was a question. A command, really. Not threatening or frightening but a command nonetheless. It’s the first time Yoongi had really heard Jimin speak in his alpha voice, even as far as Jeongguk sometimes pushed unintentionally. This was new. This was going straight to his formerly-sated dick.

“Better now?” Jimin asks. His mouth twists to the side, teasing and kind all in one, as he uses his thumbs to wipe Yoongi’s cheeks. Yoongi nods, just barely. “Good.”

“What the fuck was that?” Yoongi asks.

“I…I don’t know,” Jimin says. “I just felt like I had to say it.”

“You had to say it like that?” Jimin starts to turn rosy. “You can’t just…How dare you…What the fuck, dude.”

“I’m sorry, it just…came out like that. I didn’t mean t—”

Yoongi isn’t choking on pearls anymore but the overwhelming urge to choke on whatever Jimin’s willing to toss his way overcomes any good sense and he’s on Jimin before either of them can really think too much on it. They aren’t in private, not anymore, and he’s certain any second a nurse is going to break this up, but for the moment, he’s happy tasting Jimin’s strawberry boba tea, sitting against Jimin’s lap, breathing in Jimin’s scent. He’s happy. And that’s weird.

He shifts back into his own seat after a warning tap on his shoulder from a nurse, doing the world’s worst job of hiding his grin as he sips his tea some more. Jimin, still confused by the sudden attacking, does little more than stare, mouth slightly agape. It does nothing to help Yoongi not feel like he has to jump over there again.

“I…still don’t get you,” Jimin says with a huffy laugh eventually, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s kind of fast…in a way…it’s just, I dunno, I was thinking it might be good—”

“Yes,” Yoongi says. “I want to live with you.”

“…Oh. Okay.” Jimin grins, laughs quietly. “Um. I feel like I should say thanks or something.”

“My mom’s keeping my cat,” Yoongi says. “Fuck, I hate that you just made her right.”

Jimin frowns for a second, then laughs again. “What, no, I told her I was thinking of asking you once you got outta here,” he says. “I guess I jumped the gun.”

“Wow. And yet a mother just ‘knows.’” He rolls his eyes, then smiles some as Jimin’s fingertips start to move along his inner thigh, leg resting between Jimin’s. He’s done that before, dancing his fingers against Yoongi’s thigh, as some kind of subconscious precursor to sex, and Yoongi wonders if maybe he can secure one of the rooms on such short notice. “Are you trying to start round two?”

“Technically it’d be, like, round eight,” Jimin comments. He lifts his gaze from Yoongi’s legs to his face and smiles. “And you started it, jumping on me like that. But it’s almost time for me to go.”

“But I want you to stay.”

“Are we going to do this every week?” Jimin sighs. Yoongi nods. “Maybe we could get a dog if your mom’s keeping Killer.”

“You like dogs?” Yoongi asks and in that very moment he realizes—he knows next to nothing about Jimin personally. Does Jimin have pets already? How does he eat his steak? Is he a side sleeper or back?

“Stomach,” Jimin says. “Or side. You sleep on your side. In a little ball. It’s cute!”

“Okay this mind meld thing is ridiculous,” Yoongi sighs, shaking his head. A low, dull alarm sounds. Ten minutes of visitation time left. The others nearby start their own grumbles of protest as Yoongi bites his lip to keep his own in. “You should come back tomorrow. I want to ask you a billion questions.”

“Text them to me,” Jimin says. He gives Yoongi’s inner thigh a pat before standing and starting to clean up the picnic table they’d claimed.

“No I want to talk.”

“Then call, Yoongi, you’ve got a phone.”

“I want to talk and kiss.” Jimin tosses his plastic cup into the trash and looks at Yoongi with a laugh. “Come back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Monday and I have launch stuff to do and I’ll be exhausted after work,” Jimin says.

“Come back tomorrow.”

The alarm sounds again. Jimin sighs, eyes lifting skyward before he comes closer and kisses Yoongi’s head.

“Your mother is right,” he mutters. “You are spoiled.”

++++

Jimin likes waffles more than pancakes. He’s allergic to wasps and hornets. He’s never seen any of the Jaws movies because his cousin once scared him so badly with the theme music and a playful bite that he couldn’t sleep for a week. Taehyung and Yoongi are the only two people he’s ever slept with.

Yoongi could fall asleep like this, with Jimin so close and so warm and steadily carding his fingers through Yoongi’s messy hair. He could but he won’t because he’s got so many more questions and only half of them he bothers to ask aloud and he’s honestly never been more content than in this moment, in this room where they’d normally be tearing clothes off and smashing faces together. Yoongi wonders how many others in the facility have blocked off time in one of the rooms to do nothing more than just…talk.

“If I move in,” Yoongi mutters, damn close to failing at his resolve not to doze off against Jimin’s chest, “will Taehyung mind?”

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Yoongi lifts his head a bit to repeat himself but a response cuts him off. “I’m giving the apartment to Tae and your brother,” he says. “He’s over there enough and he makes Tae happy and I’d been thinking of maybe buying a house anyway…I want more space. So I’m going to look at houses soon, I think. My mom will help.”

“I want to help,” Yoongi says. “We could…look together. Or whatever.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomf—”

“I’m gonna live there, too, I may as well pick what I want, right?” Jimin’s chest shakes some with a quick laugh. “Giving it to them…I thought you rented?”

“Well.” Jimin fidgets a bit. “We were buying it. But now I want something else. Something nice and cozy. With you.”

Yoongi hums a little. Nice and cozy. His brain flits through a thousand different scenarios, every single one of them so irritatingly squishy he’s almost kind of offended by himself. Or maybe it’s Jimin in his head.

“Are you rich?” Yoongi asks as it finally occurs to him that most people in their age range don’t exactly have money to buy a condo and a house.

“Umm…well.” Yoongi smiles a bit; he recognizes Jimin’s nervous, quiet giggle. He’s never had anyone to recognize things like that in before other than his jerk friends. “My parents are rich. I just reap the benefits, I guess. But I’m not spoiled like you. I’ve never asked for anything. My mom just…really didn’t want me living in a crappy place. She worries.”

“Do I get to meet your mom?”

“I’d really like to say no but it’s kind of inevitable, right?”

“What do they do?” Yoongi asks. “Your parents, I mean. To be so rich.”

“My dad’s a professor at the university,” Jimin says, and Yoongi doesn’t really need clarification on which. “And my mom…she acts…I guess. I mean. I know she acts, but—”

“Wait, what?” Pushing himself upright, Yoongi stares at Jimin. “Your mom’s famous?”

“Well kind of?” Jimin doesn’t meet his gaze, staring toward the wall instead. “I mean she doesn’t do as much now as she did when she was an idol—”

“Your mom’s a damn idol?!”

“Not anymore!”

“Oh my God. Do I know her?”

“…Probably,” Jimin grumbles. He mutters to himself, shifts his way into sitting up again, then pulls his phone from his pocket, fiddles for a moment, then holds it out to Yoongi while doing what he can to keep his eyes off of Yoongi.

Yoongi braces himself. He thinks about all the possibilities of who Jimin’s mom might be, every former idol in an age range who could possibly have a kid Jimin’s age but his mind’s drawing a blank; he’s never been big on idol culture and especially not idols of yesteryear. So when he’s faced with a black and white photo of Lo from The Light, holding a flailing baby and smiling down at him, accompanying an interview about her new life as a wife and mother, Yoongi can hardly believe it.

“You’re shitting me,” Yoongi says. Jimin shakes his head. “Your mom is Lo.” A nod. “Lo from The Light. Like…My mom’s favorite girl group of all time? Do you know my mom was your mom for Halloween once? Okay this is too weird. How the fuck did I not know—”

“She never mentioned my name,” Jimin says, “and no pictures of me after I started school…because she wanted me to live freely. Please don’t make this weird.”

“Park Jimin, your mom’s famous and you’re embarrassed about it?”

“Yes.” He pauses, glancing to Yoongi, and Yoongi almost feels bad for teasing. “It’s just…I dunno. People get weird when they find out. They act different. Like they have to be extra nice to me.”

“Well it’s not getting you extra blowjobs, I can tell you that now.”

“Yoongi!” Jimin laughs, startled, and kicks at Yoongi’s thigh. “I’m being serious!”

“So am I!” Yoongi says. “I don’t care. Doesn’t change anything. I mean, other than my mom will straight up die when they meet.”

“You want our moms to meet,” Jimin says softly. He laughs quietly. “Okay…Just please don’t be weird about it.”

“I literally don’t even care anymore,” Yoongi says. He crawls closer to Jimin, smiling, squishing himself in between Jimin’s legs and putting his hands against Jimin’s thighs. “This is fun. Learning stuff about you…It’s like we’re a real thing.”

“Why wouldn’t we be a real thing?” Jimin asks, laughing again.

“Well I mean…It goes beyond just…this pull to each other,” Yoongi says, and now it’s his turn to avoid Jimin’s gaze. “We’re just like this regular couple who talk about…toothpaste.”

“Toothpaste.”

“Shut up.” Yoongi smiles into the kiss that Jimin presses to him. “I love you.”

“I just said don’t be weird,” Jimin teases. Yoongi pinches his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally stole info about Jimin's mom from my novel, not even sorry.


	27. twenty-seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hey there gang. Look, a new chapter. Depending on the outcome of this here election, it might be a while before I feel up to updating again, so...enjoy this. And fingers crossed, everyone. There's some smut-ish stuff and some mentions of blood near the end of this chapter in case you're the type who needs to skip that.

His favorite nurse can’t stop crying and he feels overwhelmingly guilty about it. The others try and comfort her but mostly all that happens is she cries a bit harder, waving her hands and refusing more help until eventually just giving Yoongi a tearful hug and excusing herself.

He has to admit, he’s feeling a bit weepy, too.

Yoongi smiles sympathetically as she leaves, as the other nurses bid him farewell, too, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets awkwardly before looking to Kyungsoo.

“So…”

“So I’m taking over your side of the room,” Kyungsoo says. He smiles and reaches for another mini ham and cheese sandwich.

Yoongi laughs quietly. “Figures,” he says with a nod. “So anyway. You got my number in case of emergency, we’ll have to get together sometime when you get outta here. I’d like to meet Jongin. And you should meet my friend Chanyeol.”

“I dunno, he seems like a bit…much,” Kyungsoo says with a quiet laugh. “But…sure, yeah. I’ll let you know when I’m out.”

For a second, it looks like Kyungsoo wants to hug Yoongi. Instead, he gives a thumbs up. Yoongi returns the gesture, not bothering to push for the actual hug.

Most everyone else that’d shone up for the very brief goodbye party for Yoongi has already left, and all that remains are staff members half-heartedly cleaning up and a couple of stragglers from the fourth floor that Yoongi only vaguely recognizes. He’s surprised, honestly, that Kyungsoo’s stayed so long - almost a whole half an hour. But he looks very much like he’s ready to leave, free hand rubbing against his pants nervously, and Yoongi does him the favor of telling him he can take off.

Downstairs, Yoongi’s bags sit near the doorway of the discharge waiting area. He’d packed last night, or more accurately last week, and carefully dragged his things down before bed. He walks closer and takes a seat on his overstuffed luggage, legs stretched out, then starts to flip through the folder his nursing team handed over. Some of the words blur together and he reaches a hand up to wipe his eyes. Feels a bit silly to cry over leaving, but he’d taken some comfort in the facility over the months. He’s not entirely certain how he’s going to function outside, inserting himself back into real life. Maybe he won’t function at all. Maybe it’ll be like before, when he barely managed for just a few weeks before backsiding and winding up in treatment again. Maybe he’ll see Kyungsoo a lot sooner than he thinks.

Too many thoughts start to crowd in, climb over one another, shout until the backs of his eyes start to hurt. Being discharged, on second thought, is probably a mistake. He takes back agreeing with Dr. Kim. He considers hauling his bags back upstairs, shoving Kyungsoo’s things that have probably already moved to his side out of the way, and taking up residence again. But it’s normal, he tells himself as he takes some deep breaths, to feel like staying is a better option than going out and living life again. They’d talked about this several times. He can’t just put himself back in the hospital for fear of being out.

Every pair of footsteps that passes sends Yoongi’s head snapping upwards, but they aren’t for him, not just yet. He watches as the girl from his group meetings gets lifted off the ground in a bear hug from an older male - not her father, given things she mentioned in group. Maybe an uncle. He takes the handle of her suitcase as an older woman takes her turn hugging the girl, and they move toward the exit in an excited fervor. Yoongi starts to feel nauseous.

“Get up, jackass.” A kick to his bag makes Yoongi jump, and he stares up to see Namjoon looking down at him as he reaches to take the bag not currently supporting Yoongi’s butt. “Let’s go, we got deadlines.”

“What deadlines?” Yoongi asks, standing.

“Okay, we don’t got deadlines but I told your mother we’d be back by two. So.” Namjoon motions toward the door. His stern look lasts for about half a second longer before he breaks character and grins widely.

“I’m gonna hug you.”

“Please don’t hug—Okay this is happening.” Yoongi sighs as Namjoon engulfs him, and eventually resigns himself to hugging his friend back. It’s nice and all but he’d definitely hoped his first official discharged hug would be Jimin. “She’s not planning a party, is she?”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.”

“Why did you let her—”

“She yelled at me,” Namjoon says. He gives Yoongi’s shoulder a firm pat and starts to wheel the bag on out. “Okay she didn’t yell but she had that look. You know how she is, man.”

“Yeah and I know how _you_ are,” Yoongi scoffs. “Just because she’s an alpha doesn’t mean you should let her boss you around. Speaking of alphas, is your boyfriend gonna be at this surprise party?”

“Oh yeah, he made a cake. Fuck. Dammit, Yoongi.”

++++

Two parties in one day is a lot for Yoongi to handle. The house isn’t full, but it feels that way with people walking around, talking to him, chatting with one another. The confetti cake from Seokjin tastes delicious, as expected, and he licks his fork while trying to keep from panicking about all the attention. He’d already been pinched and hugged and cheek-squished by more than enough family members that he didn’t care to see. Soon as everyone leaves he has a rant that’s due for his mother and her disregard for his ‘no welcome home party’ mandate. Although, he has to admit, it’s kind of nice that people cared enough to show up.

He jumps some at a hand sliding against the back of his neck, then grins widely. Jimin takes a seat next to him and hands over a new slice of cake with a quick wink. At least, above everything else, he has Jimin around. He hasn’t even had time to properly freak out about the fact that Jimin’s meeting all his family this way. He’s just grateful to have him nearby.

“Do you want to go in your room for a minute?” Jimin asks and the way his breath tickles against Yoongi’s ear makes his breath hitch. He nods, just barely, and Jimin gets up pretty quickly to pull him along.

The door is barely closed and Jimin practically devours Yoongi, pushing him against the door, kissing him like he wants to make up for so many months of _not_ kissing him. His hands roam and Yoongi lets them and everything feels way too intense. Yoongi moans a little as Jimin starts to unfasten his pants, moans louder as soon as Jimin slips his hand into Yoongi’s underwear.

“I missed you so much,” Jimin mutters, Yoongi’s lower lip fixed between his teeth. The room smells so overwhelmingly like blueberries even with the maskers along Jimin’s wrist. “Fuck, I just want to touch you everywhere.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says with an enthusiastic nod. “Do it.”

Jimin laughs, short and low, before licking into Yoongi’s mouth again as he starts to stroke. Yoongi shudders; he isn’t on his cycle and as far as he knows, Jimin isn’t, either. He momentarily considers how weird that is, to want this so badly without any kind of hormonal influence. But Yoongi doesn’t care enough to question as he fidgets, standing on his toes for a second as Jimin squeezes his member tighter.

“Do you want to look at houses this weekend?” Jimin asks, lips dragging against Yoongi’s neck. Truthfully, Yoongi would say yes to literally any question asked right about now. But he genuinely does want to go, so he sighs a rather pathetic _yes_ , arching his hips into Jimin’s touch. It’s driving him crazy that he can’t feel Jimin’s hands on him at every point.

“Do you want me to spend the night tonight?”

“Please,” Yoongi whispers. His nails dig into Jimin’s shoulder, trying to stay upright when his head feels so floaty. “Jimin…”

“Shh.” Jimin smiles and kisses Yoongi slowly as his hand speeds up. “Later, I’m gonna fuck you, okay?”

“Uh huh.”

“But you’d probably like me to do it right now, right?” Jimin starts to kiss along Yoongi’s jaw again and Yoongi bites his lip to keep from being too loud. “Having people overhear you getting off? I can think of one or two people you want to be loud for.”

“Stop teasing me and let me come,” Yoongi whines. He bangs his head against the door lightly, an electric buzz shooting through his body as Jimin thumbs the head of his member. “If you’re not going to fuck me then—oh fuck, okay, that’s fine too.”

Another small laugh and Jimin strokes Yoongi faster, pressing in tighter as he starts to grind against Yoongi’s side. The weight against him makes Yoongi see stars damn near, and he closes his eyes to try and calm down.

“I want you to claim me,” he says, which puts the brakes on all of Jimin’s movements. That is definitely not calming down. He opens his eyes. “I mean. Please? I still want it.”

“You want to get off,” Jimin mutters with a tentative stroke.

“I want to get off _and_ get claimed.”

Jimin sighs. His mind has a million thoughts going at once and the noise makes Yoongi dizzy. He moves his hands from Jimin’s shoulders to his cheeks, shifting to make Jimin look him in the eye.

“I did just get home,” Yoongi says while addressing one of the louder thoughts, “but this isn’t an impulsive thing or…random anxiety or something. I want it. I want you.”

“Yoongi…” There isn’t any fight to his tone. If Yoongi had to guess, he’d peg Jimin’s voice as being full of resignation instead. He smiles a little.

“It’s not you in my head,” Yoongi says. “It’s me. It’s a thousand percent me. I want to be yours.”

“You are.”

“You know what the fuck I mean, Jesus Christ dude, why are you fighting this more than I am? You’re literally the worst alph—OW!”

It doesn’t actually hurt, not any worse than any bites Jimin has given him before. But the suddenness startles, and he didn’t have a chance to mentally prepare, and now Jimin is tooth-deep in the crook of Yoongi’s neck and his hand strokes faster and his hips are steadily working against Yoongi’s side again…And everything feels overwhelming. Like twenty orgasms at once. Like falling over the high point of a roller coaster. Yoongi comes with Jimin’s name as a whisper on his lips.  
Jimin keeps his hips still after that, though he doesn’t let up on the bite.

The way his tongue undulates against the new mark has Yoongi feeling even more woozy, like he might come again without any effort on either of their parts. He slips a hand between them, barely grazing Jimin’s hard-on, and hardly three strokes later Jimin comes into his hand with a whimper. He smiles and nudges Jimin with his shoulder but it does basically nothing to get Jimin to let up on his bite. He tries to think about everything he’s learned about how this works but he’s pretty sure none of the required reading for school involved details of claiming during sex acts. He laughs quietly at how out of it Jimin seems, how much he feels like dead weight against him.

“Okay, you’re squishing my lungs,” Yoongi says. “Get off me.”

“Can’t move,” Jimin mutters. It sounds absolutely ridiculous with Yoongi’s flesh still in his mouth.

“You need to move for like three seconds. Just shuffle toward the bed.”

Yoongi sacrifices his shirt, which he’s pretty sure is already ruined given that the collar feels a bit damp from the wound bleeding, by wiping cum onto it before taking hold of Jimin’s belt loops to guide him toward the bed. Jimin flops backwards, eyes closed, and for a second, Yoongi just stares. It shouldn’t be hot for Jimin to lie there looking blissed out, mouth tinted red, pants damp with cum, but…The image gets seared into Yoongi’s brain for safekeeping.

He makes his way toward the bathroom, washes his hands, dampens a washcloth, and pauses to look at himself. He looks just as wrecked, like he’d gotten in a fight with a mountain lion - hair wild from Jimin’s groping, shirt bloody and askew…But most importantly, his neck is starting to bruise some. He leans in closer to the mirror and almost pokes at the mark, but thinks better of it. It’s undoubtedly Jimin’s, small and with a little crooked front tooth. It’s sort of swollen and angry-looking and really not all that visually appealing as movies and the media make it seem. It makes Yoongi smile anyway.


	28. twenty-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well we're almost at the end, y'all. I don't want to get too emotional already but...thank you all for sticking with me on this.

Without furniture filling it, the room echoes with Jimin’s moans, his loud kissy noises as he sucks along Yoongi’s neck. His quiet laughter floods over Yoongi and erases all the exhaustion he felt from a whole day of hauling boxes.

“You taste so nice,” Jimin mutters, hands sliding along Yoongi’s arms before intertwining their fingers. He brings Yoongi’s arms over his head and gives one more subtle roll of his hips. “This is nice.”

Yoongi wants to respond with more than just a sigh, more than just giving Jimin’s hands a squeeze, but he’s way too exhausted and it’s nice to just…lie there. The mattress is on the floor considering they got too tired and too impatient to assemble Jimin’s bedframe. So he doesn’t really attempt words; thoughts are good enough, all things considered, and Jimin moves to bring his mouth to Yoongi’s with another small laugh.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” Jimin asks. “Me talking out loud and you being too tired to speak?”

“Maybe,” Yoongi says. Jimin’s lips are soft and taste of the caramel and vanilla shake they’d split as a reward for moving the first batch of their things in. Yoongi leans forward for another taste.

“Fine,” Jimin laughs a little. “Is it weird to say I already miss Tae?”

“Wow you just completely killed any desire for round five,” Yoongi says. He pulls a hand away from Jimin’s with a small laugh and pushes sweaty hair back from his forehead. “We’re going to have to put rules in place. Rule one, please don’t talk about Taehyung when one or both of us is naked.”

“Noted,” Jimin says with a nod. He sits up, resting against Yoongi’s hips, and pushes his hair back with a small smile. “What’s your record? Let’s break it.”

“Uh…kinda already broken,” Yoongi admits. He turns his head toward the bare wall to avoid seeing whatever astonishment or disbelief might enter Jimin’s expression. “Two’s the best I got.”

“Seriously?”

“Is that bad?”

“No, no…” When Yoongi decides it might be safe to look again, he finds Jimin watching him with more curiosity than judgment. “You don’t care for sex very much, do you?”

“No,” Yoongi says. “But I like you. And also I think maybe you’re triggering some weird beta response or something, I dunno. It’s exhausting. You’re exhausting. I’m taking a nap.”

“Usually suppressants take care of that,” Jimin says with a short laugh. He stands and stretches, rising up on his toes with a yawn before walking toward the bathroom. “Am I really so magical that I override your pill?”

Yoongi sits up. The last time he’d taken a suppressant had been two weeks ago. His previous prescription finished and he hadn’t asked Dr. Kim for a replacement. Two weeks of nothing, momentarily sampling the wild life, and he felt largely the same. Except, of course, for the fact that he just doubled his old record for most times fucking in a row. And maybe also the fact that they’d gotten each other off at least once damn near every day since his release. And also that he can smell not just Jimin but literally everyone else around him so much more strongly. He bites his lip and tries to think of how exactly to explain that to Jimin.

“What’d you say?” Jimin calls out.

“Nothing,” Yoongi answers. He sighs and gets up to walk toward the kitchen to grab a water bottle. Drinking half the bottle doesn’t quell any of the anxiety he feels about having to say as much to Jimin. He’s not even sure why it makes him anxious. He sighs and chugs the rest, then leaves the empty bottle on the counter and goes back to the room.

Jimin is lying on the mattress on his stomach, legs crossed at the ankle and brow knit as he focuses on whatever he’s doing on his phone. He glances toward the door as Yoongi approaches and grins at him.

“Should we try for five?” he asks, suggestively wiggling his brows.

“I stopped taking them.” Based on the confusion on Jimin’s face, Yoongi continues. “The suppressants. I’m not taking any. I told Dr. Kim—”

“Are you serious?” The playful, friendly air to Jimin withers and blows away. He sits up and Yoongi steps back. He’s not even sure why; he’s not worried about being hurt, at least not consciously. “Yoongi…Do you know how ridiculous that is?”

“Well, I know we’re told it’s ridiculous without ever really being told _why_ ,” Yoongi says. “I mean…it’s been two weeks and you didn’t notice anything different about me, right?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“The point is you know what I do for a living, right?” Jimin asks. “You know that that’s pretty fucking important to me?”

“Well, this is pretty fucking important to me,” Yoongi says with a small shrug. “I just…don’t feel comfortable right now taking them. It doesn’t ever strike you as odd? To be pretty much forced into taking these pills as soon as we’re old enough…To never just…let shit happen however it happens? Maybe these pills do more harm than good in the long-run.”

“Do you have any idea how you sound right now?” Jimin runs his hands over his face. “There’s reasons behind taking them, Yoongi. You not doing it is like…like not getting an MMR shot. Vaccinations are necessary. Suppressants are necessary.”

“Plenty of people skip them—”

“And plenty of people are wrong!” Jimin’s voice has never gotten particularly loud with Yoongi, and the echoing in the room makes him step back again.

“Don’t yell at me,” Yoongi says softly.

“Well don’t talk like an idiot!” The edge on Jimin softens almost immediately. “Fuck. I…did not mean that. I’m sorry—”

“I’m going to go into a different room. Don’t follow me.” His steps feel especially heavy as he tries not to scream back at Jimin. Or overthink what he’d said. Or, heaven forbid, cry. He turns back after a few steps and pokes his head back into their room. “Also, fuck you.”

++++

“Thanks for letting me hang out,” Yoongi says with a sigh. His head rests on the edge of the bed, hair falling down toward the floor, and he watches bare legs walking toward him before sitting upright again with a small smile.

“I gotta say,” Jia comments as she hands him the soju bottle, “I didn’t really expect you to text me of all your friends. I mean. If we can be called friends.”

“We’re friends,” Yoongi says. He clinks his bottle against Jia’s as a brief wordless toast before swigging from it. “I like you. Don’t be shocked.”

“Okay, this is me, turning off the shock,” she says with a nod. She grins, then takes a drink of her own soju. “You’ve got good timing. The boys are out doing their own thing and Hyojin—”

Yoongi sighs some. He wishes an awkward silence would come and replace the current silence; it’d be worlds better. He starts to peel at the label on his bottle.

“Sorry,” Jia says. “Um. Point being I’ve had a lonely afternoon—”

“How’s she doing?” Yoongi asks. He shouldn’t ask. He knows he shouldn’t ask, but…Letting people go has never been his strongpoint.

“She’s okay,” Jia says, soft as though speaking any more forcefully might somehow upset Yoongi. “Seeing a guy from work. I think she’s pretty happy…I think she misses you.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi shifts to put his soju down, then curls up onto his side, burying his face in one of Jia’s pillows. It smells like Seokjin. “Well.”

“It’s none of my business but…maybe you two could talk sometime? Just to clear the air. Not like you have to be friends again if you don’t want.” She adds the last bit on in a hurry. “It’s your choice.”

“My choice is to change the fucking subject. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Sorry. Okay, so…you’re pissed off at him but tell me about the house!” Jia says with a grin. “Do you love it? Is it big? When is the housewarming party? I’ve already picked out the perfect gift.”

“Um…yeah, I think I do love it,” Yoongi says, a yawn obscuring the last few words. “I mean it’s pretty big for just two of us…so I’ll have to get used to that. But I like it. There’s a big backyard, never had that before. I’m thinking we’ll get a dog at some point. I have to try and pry my cat away from my mom, I’ll probably go to the shelter and buy her a substitute cat. And I dunno about housewarming…Never had a house to warm. I guess it depends on whatever he wants.”

Jia nods. Seriousness settles on her face and Yoongi braces himself. “So, can I ask…why? It’s not anyone else’s business, obviously, I’ve just never met anyone who doesn’t take suppressants other than Hyojin and I already know her reasonings. So…what is it that appeals to being wild to you?”

“I just wanted to see,” Yoongi says. “I guess it just seemed like a good idea at the time.” He pauses. “And I’m scared. If…If my old meds had a weird clash with my suppressant, maybe it’d happen again, y’know? I didn’t want to switch too many things too quickly and my doctor wanted me to upgrade to the shit Jimin worked on. And I know they tested the shit out of it, I’ve had to hear about it for months but…it still makes me nervous. I don’t know why I’m telling you, Christ you’re like some kinda secrets wizard.”

“I’ve been told I have that kind of face,” she says with a small smile, nodding. “But I think I get it. Will you start taking them again?”

“Maybe. Maybe after a few weeks. Kinda don’t want to ever now just out of spite but…”

“He seems passionate. Not to excuse being a jerk.”

“I’m not excusing anything. He’s a fucking asshole sometimes.”

“Okay let’s just watch a movie and you stop thinking about it.”

+++

It’s almost four in the morning by the time he comes home. He struggles with the lock for a moment, jiggling it a few times before it finally gives, and he’s careful not to jostle Killer around too much in her soft-sided carrier. She meows a few times, quiet but forceful, and he grumbles for her to be quiet. 

The living room boxes have been unpacked. It looks a bit odd without a sofa, but more like they actually live there than it had twelve hours ago. He makes a note to thank Jimin but immediately remembers he’s still kind of pissed. Killer takes off immediately upon Yoongi unzipping her carrier and he doesn’t bother trying to chase her down. He sighs and goes toward the bathroom but her litterbox is already set up. In the kitchen, her food area’s set up, too. Yoongi isn’t sure if it’s guilt or boredom that led Jimin to do all the unpacking but at least Yoongi doesn’t have to worry about it.

When he gets to the bedroom door, he stops. Killer sits perched on Jimin’s bare back, paws tucked beneath herself, already starting to drift to sleep. He hates how cute it is and hates even more that he takes a picture. Undressing, slipping into pajamas, brushing his teeth kills about ten minutes and when he comes back to the bed - floor mattress - he pauses again. Jimin’s head is facing out now instead of staring at the wall, and his eyes are set on Yoongi. So much for coming home late enough that Jimin’s sure to be asleep.

“I don’t sleep sometimes, remember?” Jimin mutters, hand obscuring his mouth a bit.

“Yeah, I remember,” Yoongi says with a sigh. He bounces down onto the mattress. “We can’t both stay awake all the time, y’know.”

“I’m sorry for being a dick earlier.” Jimin leaves some space for Yoongi to say something, but Yoongi does nothing but stare. “…I should’ve been more understanding. And listened to why you’re choosing not to do something that’s been medically proven—”

“Jimin.”

“Sorry. Sorry, but Yoongi you have to know going wild isn’t a good idea.”

“Maybe not,” Yoongi shrugs. He smiles some as Killer crosses over from Jimin to his stomach. “But it’s my dumbass mistake to make and it’s not putting you in any immediate danger, right? It’s not like MMR. If I don’t take a suppressant the worst that happens will all happen to me.”

“And I don’t like that,” Jimin says. “I don’t…I mean it could hurt you, and I don’t want you to be hurt. That’s all. It freaks me out to think about and I lost my temper over it because I’m scared. And I’m sorry. I’m not going to nag you about it but just know that I don’t agree with this at all.”

“That’s fine.” Yoongi shrugs. “The next time you snap at me like that, I’m not coming back so quickly.”

“Understood.” Jimin smiles a little, then moves a little closer and rests his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder. “I love you. Even if you make decisions I don’t agree with.”

“I’m still kind of pissed at you,” Yoongi says. “And I’m telling you because apparently internalizing that shit is bad for you. And I’m trusting that you’re not going to leave just because I’m mad. Right?”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You’re not supposed to make a stupid goofy face like that when I’m mad,” Yoongi says with a laugh. “What is wrong with you?”

“It’s a smile, jackass,” Jimin chuckles, “and I just…I dunno, I’m proud of you. For admitting your feelings and not just swallowing them. This is good. This is really good so I’m super proud and I just want to bite you.”

“You did that already.” Jimin laughs louder, and Yoongi shoos the cat away to turn onto his side to face Jimin. Their kiss is slow, almost apologetic, and he does his best not to moan when Jimin’s fingers run through his hair. “Still mad.”

“I know.” Jimin’s other hand moves lower, grabs the elastic of Yoongi’s boxers to slide him closer.

“You can’t just distract me like this, I’m still gonna be mad even—oh, fuck, okay.” Yoongi laughs some, steadies himself by grabbing on to Jimin’s shoulders as Jimin pulls him into straddling.

“You can keep being mad,” Jimin says. “But I’m going to try making it up to you.”

“…Fine. But I’m definitely still mad.”


	29. twenty-nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end. Wow.

Yoongi feels the staring and chooses to ignore it. It’s been almost ten minutes of it, of furtive sidelong glances and sentences stopped and started every few seconds. At some point, Namjoon will find a sentence and stick with it. And then Yoongi might have to punch him.

“Your best bet,” Yoongi says just as he tosses Namjoon a roll of tape, “would be to shelve whatever witty retort you’re trying to come up with and move on with your fucking life.”

“It’s just weird,” Namjoon says, finally. Yoongi stops his attempts at decorating to stare at Namjoon. “I mean you’ve literally never had…and now it’s just…there…and I was really content assuming that you and he didn’t ever do anything intimate considering you are who you are.”

“Thanks?”

“But now it’s there and I just…it’s weird. It’s like you’re a real adult now.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Sex isn’t a prerequisite for adulthood and neither is having a claiming mark, you stereotypical ballbag.”

“No, I know, that’s not—I didn’t mean it like that,” Namjoon says with a sigh. “I meant it like…Fuck, I meant it in an asshole way, didn’t I.”

“Yeah. You did. Sometimes, for a genius, you’re really fucking dumb.”

Namjoon laughs quietly but doesn’t bother denying it, and Yoongi manages a small smile of his own. He pulls the balloon off the helium tank nozzle and ties it off quickly, then grabs a piece of ribbon to tie that around the knot he’d made. It’s tedious and he’s tired of balloons already but there aren’t too many more to do. And he has to admit, they’ve worked well together to make Seokjin’s dining room - really, the three of theirs now - into an appropriate party location. He hasn’t commented about Namjoon’s own mark, just at the base of his neck and mostly hidden by his shirt, but Yoongi’d noticed it while Namjoon stooped near the floor to rummage through a bag to find streamers. For a split second he felt kind of shitty that Namjoon hadn’t bothered mentioning that things with Seokjin had gotten so serious - beyond moving in, even - but considering he hadn’t said anything about Jimin, he kept his whining to himself.

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks and it’s the first time he’s gotten to hang out with everyone, considering Hoseok missed his coming home party thanks to work. And now there’s about half an hour until people start showing up and he’s gonna have to face Hoseok and his girlfriend and he kind of wants to just hide upstairs under the covers with a quiet prayer that Namjoon’s sheets have been washed recently. But he stays, and he finishes up with the balloons before moving to arrange presents on a table near the back door. He wishes Jimin would hurry back just for some sense of calm before an onslaught of socialization.

“It’s cool, y’know,” Namjoon says and the suddenness of his voice invading Yoongi’s space makes Yoongi drop one of the presents. He really hopes it wasn’t fragile. When he turns, Namjoon continues. “If you’re nervous. I mean. I don’t pretend to know the whole deal with you and Hob…”

“Yes you do,” Yoongi says with a quick laugh.

“Okay, I do. But I just wanted to say it’s fine if you feel weird right now,” Namjoon says, shrugging. “If you wanted to talk or…whatever. Y’know. I’m here anytime.”

“Yeah, I know,” Yoongi sighs. “You’re always fucking there, that’s the problem.”

“I’m a great hyung,” Namjoon says with a grin, and Yoongi smiles back. “Not to make it even more awkward but I’ve got a show this weekend and I want you and Jimin to come. But…Meng’s bringing Hyojin, so…you are more than welcome to tell me to fuck off if you don’t wanna see her.”

“We’ll be there.”

Namjoon’s face, twisted in confusion and surprise, is kind of hilarious. Almost worth the discomfort Yoongi knows will come at running into Hyejin.

“Oh…okay. Great. Thank you.”

“Yeah yeah.” Yoongi dismisses the sentiment with a wave. “If _I_ don’t support your bullshit, who will?”

“Seokjin,” Namjoon says. “Jia. Hoseok. My dad. My mom. _Your_ mom—”

“Okay shut up.”

“We’re back!” Yoongi glances up just as Jeongguk walks through the doorway, loaded up with bags that he takes straight through to the kitchen. “It’s really cold out.”

“Cake!” Taehyung calls out while carrying a rather large sheet cake right behind Jeongguk. “I have the most important thing!”

“I’m pretty sure the most important things are the birthday couple,” Jimin says with a small laugh. He walks right to Yoongi - notably empty-handed - and kisses his neck briefly before continuing on to help Jeongguk unload the bags.

“But you can’t _buy_ them,” Taehyung argues. He sits the cake down on the designated table and opens up the box. “This is the most important thing you _buy_.”

“Hyung?” Yoongi and Namjoon both turn as Jeongguk speaks, and Jeongguk smiles and points at Yoongi. “Could you help me with something?”

“Uh…I guess?”

Yoongi abandons his station and follows Jeongguk out into the living room, past Jia and Seokjin arguing half-heartedly about how high up to hang the Happy Birthday banner, and up the stairs into a bedroom. He sits down on the unmade bed as Jeongguk closes the door and watches as Jeongguk leans against a dresser. It feels a hell of a lot like he’s in trouble for something.

“You okay?” Jeongguk asks.

Yoongi stares. He can’t much help the laughter that comes out. “Why do you people think I might not be okay?” he asks. “I’m fine.”

“You say you’re fine a lot, hyung, and you sometimes are…really not fine,” Jeongguk says. “And your eyes were getting kind of unfocused. Like you were panicking or something.”

“I’m just tired.” It’s immediately the wrong thing to say. “No, no, like…literally tired. Stop tensing up. Killer’s not used to the new house still and she keeps waking us up fucking early to scream about it. And the new pills to make me not crazy just make me kinda groggy. I’m fine. It’s fine. I’m not freaking out.” He pauses. “But…thank you. For being concerned.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk says, nodding a little. He bites at his lower lip, and Yoongi tries to prepare himself for even more worried lecturing from his stupid perfect younger brother. “It’s just, if you’re not fine, you can say so.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t want you to be upset and think you can’t say so just because everybody’s having fun today.”

“I _know_ , Jeongguk. I’m fine, I swear on like nineteen bibles.”

“You don’t even…Whatever, hyung.” Jeongguk smiles softly and does manage to have a more relaxed posture at that. “It’s weird.” Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Living with Tae. I mean. I love it so far but it’s just…I get worried.”

“About?”

“Well Mom’s by herself. The new cat’s not gonna be able to call 911 or something if—And then you’re off with Jimin hyung and I…”  
Yoongi smiles a little. “Would you feel better if I started coming to the weekly hangout again?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk nods.

“Okay,” Yoongi says. “Starting next week, I’m there. And you can call anytime. Or text, whatever. Just don’t drop by unannounced, I fucking hate that. Gimme at least two hours’ worth of notice. Or sit in your fucking car ‘til I agree you can come in.”

“Thank you,” Jeongguk says and tries not to grin too widely.

“Aside from you perpetually worrying way too much, how is it?” Yoongi asks and the way Jeongguk’s entire being lights up makes him feel a little more at ease that his brother’s okay.

“We’re gonna get a dog!” Jeongguk says. “I mean. We weren’t planning it but a classmate’s dog is having puppies and she’s gonna give us one. And it’s like…It’s like the right thing to do, I think. I love him.”

“Oh…shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Does he know?” Jeongguk nods a little. “Well I for one am shocked.”

“Fuck you,” Jeongguk laughs a little. “I’m happy…Are you?”

“…Yeah, I am.”

++++

Yoongi wants to complain about there being too many people, but frankly, he’s glad that Hoseok’s so well-loved.

Well. Hoseok and the girlfriend.

He glances toward some unfamiliar faces that he assumes are there for said girlfriend, or maybe coworkers of theirs that he’s yet to meet. Though it seems sort of unlikely; he may as well be on a first-name basis with all the nurses at Hoseok’s and Seulgi’s hospital.

The two of them are a bit late and people are milling around trying to occupy themselves and it feels like a cohesive family thing. Like something they do all the time. Like he kinda shouldn’t be intruding on this. He has no idea when, why, or how Jimin inserted himself so easily into his life, his friend group, but watching Jimin and Seokjin bickering feels sort of like Yoongi’s the odd one out. He shakes the thought out. Squashes it down. He’s grateful for this. Jimin being comfortable with his friends is a good thing.

And it’s a good thing that Jeongguk isn’t hovering, isn’t staring at him from across the room to gauge whether or not panic is necessary. It’s good that Jeongguk’s far more concerned with trying to keep Taehyung away from the cake. It’s good that his mother is out of bed, out of the house, bright and happy and chatting with Hoseok’s mother on the sofa. All of these things are good things and there’s nothing to freak out about.

When the door opens and everyone makes use of their noisemakers, the startled look on Hoseok’s face makes Yoongi crack up. It’s not as if they don’t do this every year, but Hoseok never fails to act as if he’s being personally attacked by the noisemakers. His hand moves from his chest down toward Seulgi’s beside him, a tight, solid grip, and Yoongi doesn’t feel…anything. It’s fine. It’s completely fine, other than a momentary second of bewilderment. He puts on a polite smile anyway when he accidentally catches Seulgi’s eye and feels kind of guilty at the full, enthusiastic grin he receives in return.

The moms swoop in first - Yoongi’s, Hoseok’s, and a woman he assumes is Seulgi’s - before others move closer to tell the two happy birthday. But Yoongi hangs back. Not because he’s upset or anything. It just feels like the best idea. He’s the one in the room least familiar with Seulgi outside of the hospital, after all. At least it gives him time to try and think of something to say.

Hoseok looks at him with something like expectation and Yoongi gives a tiny shrug. Wrong answer, apparently, as Hoseok’s mouth tightens just barely. Just enough that Yoongi notices if no one else does. But Hoseok turns toward Namjoon and Jia, accepts more hugs, talks excitedly about something that Yoongi can only just barely hear. He sighs and moves out of the way to go linger by the chip bowl.

A finger pokes at the top of his head and he nearly drops his glass of punch. Taehyung grins. “Are you hiding from them?” he asks.

“I’m trying to eat some snacks,” Yoongi says. For whatever reason it earns him another poke to the head. “What the f—Stop.”

“You like her,” Taehyung says. “You think she’s nice and you want Hoseok to be happy, right?”

“Literally no one asked you.”

“Don’t screw yourself, hyung,” Taehyung says before shoving an entire tortilla chip in his mouth. “Self-sabotage isn’t a good look. And you’re doing well enough so far to not have that blow up. Not that we’re friends or anything but if you backslide I’m gonna hear about it from two fronts and I don’t have time for that. Be civil. I’ll still fuck you up if you ruin things with Jimin.”

“Got it.”

Taehyung hums, grinning goofily before taking a few more chips and returning to Jeongguk’s side. No one is paying any attention to the front door. Or the back door. Yoongi could easily slip out, get on the train, go home and cuddle his cat. But he fucks up and manages to catch Seulgi’s eye again and he swears it’s starting to seem like _she’s_ watching him, too. He pulls out his phone to pretend like he’s got some important message, then sort of laughs upon seeing he actually _does_ have a message.

 **that PCY fucker**  
So I’ve only been to Seokjin’s place twice before and Namjoon’s directions are confusing and I am lost as shit??? I think I’m in Daegu or something. What’s the address so I can just put it in maps???? D:  
**15:32**

Pro-tip, never let Namjoon direct you anywhere. Get the address every time.  
**15:44**

Even after killing some time with that, Yoongi notices Seulgi occasionally glance his way. He sighs and polishes off his punch and wishes very much that there were booze in it.

“Well, happy birthday, you two,” Yoongi says once he walks closer to them. Hoseok is still tense. Yoongi wishes he weren’t. But if Seulgi notices, she doesn’t say a word about it.

“Thank you!” she grins, tucking her hair behind her ear. The movement brings her scent out. Like cotton candy. “This is really cool. I’ve never had a birthday party before.”

“Never?” The incredulity in his one earns Yoongi another glare from Hoseok. “I mean. Not that that’s a bad thing, just…Anyway sucks you have to share your first birthday party.”

“Oh no, I think that’s fun!” Seulgi says and she holds tighter to Hoseok’s arm, briefly touches her head to his shoulder. They’re too fucking cute and it makes Yoongi kind of annoyed. “Namjoon says you did the balloons. They look nice!”

“They’re not that fancy,” Yoongi says with a shrug. “I mean. Thanks.” He looks at Hoseok a moment and tries to seem apologetic. Accepting? Anything that’ll wipe the sternness from Hoseok. “We got red velvet cake. Think Hoseok said you like red velvet.”

“I do,” Seulgi nods. “Oh man, this is all so much, I might cry.”

“Please don’t. Not to be mean, sorry, I mean like. I dunno what the fuck to do when people cry at me, so…”  
Seulgi smiles, laughs quietly. “You’re really awkward when you’re not all drugged up and hooked to a bunch of tubes,” she says.

“…You got me there,” Yoongi says. He laughs a little as well. “But not as awkward as your boyfriend. Lemme tell you about this one time in Osaka—”

“Wow okay nope!” Hoseok says loudly, laughing, hand immediately clamping over Yoongi’s mouth. It successfully pulls Hoseok out of whatever defensive funk he’d been sinking into. Perfect.

“I’ll tell you later,” Yoongi says in a stage whisper after prying Hoseok’s hand away. “So. Seulgi. If you were a vampire, which of us would you eat first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...thank you. Thank you to everyone who ever read any part of this. Thank you to those of you who found this at the very beginning and have been hanging with the story for over a year(!). Thank you to those of you who just found the story last week and read through everything super quickly. Thank you to those of you who sent in really personal anecdotes about your own struggles with anxiety and depression, with interpersonal relationships, with self-esteem. Thank you all so much.
> 
> I'm so incredibly grateful to all you readers. And I'm honestly incredibly sad that this is over. But there's always room for a follow-up companion piece, right?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated! And you can find me on tumblr [here](http://insearchofanexit.tumblr.com/) and twitter [here](http://twitter.com/girlnumberthree)\- feel free to follow, yell, hug, make requests, etc. I like new friends.


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